The changeling was small and skinny underneath his grey overcoat and his bright teal scarf, and so was the shortsword tucked under his belt, but to Queen Chrysalis, future Queen of All, every drone was tiny. She was glad to see this one. She didn’t know if she had ever seen him before or would ever see him again, but he was panting so heavily that he could only bring news of a battle, and Chrysalis was eager for the Lyctida campaign to begin in earnest. Even if it was certainly going to be like pulling teeth, it would be something different, and the last four campaigns had been indistinguishable from each other besides a few key moments. Fighting a rebel army rather than a single Queen would challenge Chrysalis in new ways.
“Your highness!” The messenger yelled into the tent, bowing down as he did so. “The formation of Fourth-Commander Trimmel met the enemy force! They were attacked with a new war machine and his formation was forced off of the hill! He is taking his troops to the secondary line to make a new stand!”
Chrysalis leaned forwards in spite of the subtle laughter of the other generals. So things were already going off the rails. Her voice boomed through the command tent. “A new war machine, huh? Tell me about it.”
“Yes, ma’am!” The messenger continued. “I saw it myself! There were four, one leader and three others, and they moved under their own power! They were covered in steel plates, and they had a turret placed on top with a machine-gun of some sort inside! They inflicted 20 losses on the formation before Fourth-Commander Trimmel decided that staying put would accomplish nothing and retreated! The war machines did not pursue, and rebel troops are now on the hill!”
Chrysalis thought for a second, but nothing came to her. She turned to her left, where Factrix of the former house of Alvaria sat, staring downward in concentration. She suddenly turned and looked at Chrysalis, her pitch-black eyes asking for permission to speak. The Queen nodded. Factrix turned to the messenger. “Did these machines leave behind a trail of smoke?”
“Yes, ma’am! It was like a furnace!” He replied energetically.
Factrix turned back to Chrysalis. “My Queen, I would bet that those are coal-tractors. Unless there is a radical new technology, they cannot go far without needing more fuel, and their armor is only thick enough to resist rifle rounds.”
“And what do you recommend?” Chrysalis goaded.
“If we had a few dozen hunter’s rifles, we could send them to the formation, but we do not. I recommend we transfer some light cannons from Enza’s fourth-unit to Trimmel’s region. The heavy projectile should have no trouble getting through the armor, and the operators can’t see outside without opening them up to fire, so their vision is likely restricted to small ports so that they might not notice the cannons until its too late.” Factrix explained.
Just then, a second messenger ran into the command tent and stooped down besides the first. “Your highness!” He opened. “I have been sent by Fourth-Commander Enza! Fourth-Commander Trimmel has sent us a counterfeit message supposedly from your highness, demanding that he give ten of his light cannons and their solid shot to him!”
Cries rang out in the tent. “Treachery! Betrayal!” The assembled sixth-commanders yelled as they argued amongst each other about what to do and how to punish him. “Your highness!” Yelled one of them, Synovial, as he stood up aggressively. “Give me the order and I will lead my army against him this instant!”
Chrysalis saw this and laughed. The generals calmed down and stared at her with expectation in their eyes. “Not until I hear that he has been forced back again!” She rubbed her hooves together. Factrix was smiling too. Yes, this was going to be an interesting campaign.
Trimmel Araxis du Gardis sat in the top of the pine tree, scanning the horizon with an eyeglass. He had a few of his soldiers doing the same elsewhere, but he wanted to see what happened next himself. It felt like it would be very important. Mostly to his career.
The last cannons had gotten into position a few minutes ago. The treeline was adequate cover, mostly because it was the only cover and he had to convince himself this would work. He had to commit some dire insubordination to pull this scheme off, but it was his first real command under the Queen herself, and damn it all, he wasn’t going to be pushed around by the same breed of lowlife thug as those he had been manipulating by the hundred at this time last year. Next thing he’d know, he’d be pushed around by those doddering old fools in the command tent, too.
A kilometer away, the hill he had been forced to give up sat there, taunting him. On the slope of that hill he’d had caskets buried and detonators wired, and at his call, a smokescreen would explode out of the ground to cover his retreat. But it wasn’t a retreat, his troops weren’t going to budge, and when the enemy came to press the advantage, they’d find that tear gas was mixed in with the smoke and they’d be cut down on the near side. That trick had worked wonders in Severyana, but here, the war machines had simply stayed a distance away. The wind had never been right to carry the noxious gas to them, so nothing had happened. They picked off his soldiers one by one until he sounded the call to pull back to the second line, using the trick smokescreen as a real one.
Six hundred of the Royal Army’s best driven back by four strange objects. It wasn’t going to happen again.
And it wouldn’t if he had figured out a way to beat them, but he knew very little about them. He knew was that they were from the Saturnalians, which would be very helpful if he could talk to any of them, but they preferred to stay at shooting range. The cannons were just a guess.
Some of his soldiers had better eyes, and they had seen changelings in strange yellow-green spotted coats moving about on top of that hill. Now, he saw that four familiar black plumes of smoke were coming over the ridge. Calls rang out along the line from the other treetop scouts that the armored carriages were coming again. Once again, they were alone, trundling down the hill at a pace a changeling could maybe outrun. Trimmel looked down. “Remember, everyone! It’s the cannons that will be doing the work, so keep them protected!” Assorted shouts of acknowledgement came back to him and he put the spyglass back to his eye.
The strange machines were roughly-identical collections of steel-grey boxes and triangles. They had four wheels, two smaller ones in the front and two massive ones in the back, and in between the two was the biggest box of their shape, with a squat metal crate on top of it that swiveled back and forth with its machine gun poking out the front. There were once again four of them, each with the symmetric and jagged symbol of the Saturnalians painted in white on the sides, and when they reached the bottom of the slope, Trimmel’s stolen cannons fired. They shot out massive gouts of white fog, and his soldiers promptly started to fire in the direction of the machines, partially in the hopes of hitting them but mostly to obscure the smoke from the real guns. The machine guns of the vehicles were single-barreled, which must have been very difficult to build. Trimmel wondered how great an engineer the rebels must have. His own had eight barrels to go with their eight internal receivers.
Not that he was complaining. His own machine guns were made of scrap metal and wood and look like they were found in a garbage bin, but Factrix’s contraptions were going to change warfare, he knew it. He was lucky to have thirty-one for his six-hundred-plus soldiers, and wouldn’t swap them out for fifteen if all that changed was that they got prettier.
Black powder smoke filled the air soon enough, and it was only Trimmel’s high position that afforded him a decent view of the field. From here, he couldn’t see the bullets impacting the ground or the war machines, just the sprays of dirt from when a cannonball landed. They were going wide or short or far but they were getting closer to their targets with every shot. The tanks fired back, spraying rounds into the forest inarticulately.
After a few minutes of trading fire, a hatch opened on the leader vehicle, and Trimmel caught a periscope coming out from the top. It looked around and a bundle of fireworks was thrown out. Bright red sparks shot out in all directions, each one with a loud whistle accompanying it, and the vehicles all stopped, then reversed and started to move backwards, crawling back up the hill the way they had came.
That must have been them signaling to each other. Their environmental awareness must be terrible.
Cheers and hollers began to fill the undergrowth below. Third-Commander Manti clumsily flapped up to Trimmel’s tree. “Well, officer, I’ll be damned. That actually worked. What do we do next?” He asked.
“First thing is to send a messenger to the Queen explaining that it worked. That way, she isn’t mad I stole those artillery pieces.” Trimmel commented, continuing to look at the field and its splotches of brown upturned earth. “As for our next move… I suppose that we should have another fourth and their cannons assist us in surrounding the hill, and send the rest of the army forwards while we besiege the position.”
Manti landed on the branch besides him and looked out across the field. “Sir, with all due respect, that plan would fall apart if they have another group of those monstrous things held in reserve.”
“I do not believe that they do.” Trimmel replied. “The devices were their superweapons, and they revealed them to us during the very first engagement. Their opening move was to show their trump card. I would have waited until more of our forces were committed so that we couldn’t react.” He floated the spyglass to Manti and continued. “What’s more, they retreated when they found we were shooting hidden cannon at them. That means that they knew we had the ability to defeat them and they attacked with those things first anyways.”
Manti scanned the battlefield through the wooden instrument. “Even if they have more than four, that’s an awfully cavalier attitude about them. They must be horribly expensive to produce.”
“Unless you expect the battle to be over in only a few engagements,” Trimmel countered. “I would bet that their plan was to force their way through our positions, defensive line by defensive line, using those machines, until they reached our camp, at which point they could strike at the heart of our supply lines and force the entire army into a hasty retreat.”
“…And if they are relying on their armored machines to thrust to the heart of the army, they have no reason to hold any back once the first ones are deployed because the attack needs as much power as possible.” Manti continued for him. “I see your logic. What do you think they’re going to do now that we’ve already countered their primary movement?”
Trimmel stared pensively at the overwhelmingly green Lyctidan countryside. “Who knows? If they’re smart, they have another kind of war machine that they haven’t shown off yet that they’ll attack with, and that one will be used in a real plan designed to make use of over-caution about this current one. If they aren’t, they’ll try to salvage some sort of maneuver out of this. If they’re in between, they’ll leave and try for a battle somewhere else.” He realized he still heard the sounds of hollering soldiers. “Now give me back my spyglass, tell those guys to get back into fight mode in case the enemy makes another move, and send someone to the Queen telling her what happened and that we’re holding position.”
A few hours later, the messenger took a stick from the forest floor and pointed to the map he had brought with him. “And so, there are battles between infantry units all along the treeline a few kilometers to the north. The rebels have their artillery firing, and though they’ve just sent skirmishers forward so far, the battle seems to have properly started. So says the Queen.”
Distantly, there was a rolling thunder of artillery pieces and rifle fire, but it was just a faint noise. Trimmel pondered the battle lines. “And what will she have us do?”
“She has sent some her guards to hurry to a nearby lodge in the hopes of finding hunter’s rifles. If they can get some, they’ll bring them back, and then you can re-take the hill. Until that point, though, you just have to hold position and send word if the tractors come down off of it .”
The hill was the sole hill for a distance in either direction that laid within the corridor of flat plains separating Trimmel’s forest from the one the rebels were operating from. It gave the owner a clear view of many kilometers of empty field in all directions. It had been trivial to send a few teams forwards to simply watch around the back of it, hiding in the tall grass and ready to send a flare if the ‘tractors’ were spotted retreating from behind the hill where Trimmel and his soldiers supposedly couldn’t see them.
“Tell her that I got her orders and will follow them. And that I’m thankful for the honor of being the first to destroy the enemy’s superweapons.” Trimmel replied. “Well, if that’s all from you, I have no news here-“
“Commander! The machines are coming again!” One of the tree-scouts yelled. Trimmel cursed under his breath and flew up to where she was watching from. He grabbed the spyglass for himself and looked, and sure enough, the four tractors were once again thundering towards his position.
But not like last time. They were slower, he noticed. That wasn’t right, they’d be more vulnerable to the cannons. Then he noticed that these were different tractors. Where the large central box had been with the turret on top, there was now just one great metal face. From up here, he could see that it had no roof and no back. It also didn’t have a machine gun, but it did have a cannon of its own placed into its steel container. What’s more, as he looked, he caught a small line in the grass, and followed it to notice that the enemy soldiers were moving too. A few hundred of them. They were ahead of the tractors, and he hadn’t noticed them because they were so far ahead, but also because of their green-brown ponchos and their spread-out formation. Behind all of it, cresting the top of the hill, the original four tractors and their machine guns were speeding down, ready to support the attack.
“All soldiers, the battle is starting again!” He shouted down. “Be on the lookout for their skirmishers, they’re dressed in camouflage and only a few hundred meters away!” There was a furious rustling beneath him as the troops, many of whom had drifted out of position after a few hours of inactivity, snapped back to their posts. “Cannons, fire when ready! They’re in range!”
A shout of acknowledgement came from below and the gunfire started again. Sharp cracks and loud booms filled the air almost as thick as the white smoke of the burnt powder. Trimmel watched as the enemy force reacted, and was shocked by what he saw.
The enemy skirmishers had rifles, but they also had crossbows. In sets of three or four, they cautiously let a few bolts loose, then their next shot, fired in unison, was entirely made of bolts who’s heads had been lit on fire. That the enemy was using crossbows alongside their rifles was absolutely bizarre to Trimmel. Why would a force use both? Why open with normal bolts instead of going straight for the flaming ones? And why use flaming bolts at all when it rained just two days ago? What would be set on fire?
One of the cannon tractors fired, and the one besides it soon followed. He tracked the shots with his spyglass and found that they landed… right next to where a half-dozen flaming crossbow bolts had landed… right next to one of his hidden cannons. The shells exploded on impact, throwing up massive clouds of dirt and smoke.
So what was the method.
Trimmel leapt down into the woods again and found the Queen’s messenger still waiting. “Here’s what you need to tell the Queen. We’re going to be retreating to Enza’s position. There is a new kind of armored tractor, one with a cannon instead of a turret, and they’re using skirmishers with fire arrows to mark out cannons so that these artillery tractors can see and destroy them from distance.”
The messenger was ducking down to avoid the shrapnel and the gunfire, even though nobody was shooting at the Queen’s soldiers here, just her cannons. “You’re retreating again? You’ve only been fighting for fifteen minutes!”
“Yes, and I’m not happy about it, but Factrix will know what to do with this information and I don’t! So-” He paused. “No, wait, there’s one more thing. The enemy is sending their line infantry forwards, not their skirmishers.”
“How can you tell?” The messenger asked.
“Because there are no skirmishers! The enemy army is designed for a battlefield with machine guns and everyone standing in dense lines just makes you easy targets! That’s why they’re spread out across the front line!” Trimmel yelled. “The enemy either has a dread commander or a foreigner in charge, their entire force is built for a war nobody here was taught to fight! Make sure you do not forget that part!”
The messenger nodded. “Yes, sir!” He shouted before entering a dead run backwards to the HQ.
“Manti! Get over here!” Trimmel yelled. Shortly, Third-Commander Manti appeared. At times like this, it was good to observe the battle from right next to where one of your lower officers needed to be.
“Sir, what do you need?” Manti shouted over the sound of gunfire and explosions.
Trimmel motioned around. “Get two firsts from your formation. One is going to send the news across the line that we’re pulling back again to Enza’s position. Everyone needs to stay with the cannons, their vehicles can’t follow us into the forest well but the enemy still has normal soldiers nearby who can grab them if they’re unguarded, and we have the numbers to beat back those infantry.”
“Got it, sir! And the other first?”
“The other first needs to be your fastest. Break it up into pairs and send the pairs around the battlefield telling everyone that this is the enemy’s main force, not their advance, and that if the enemy doesn’t have any machine guns or tractors then there’s nothing protecting them from a charge.” Trimmel said. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t, but I get what you’re asking, sir. I’ll find the right soldiers for it.” Manti replied.
“Damn right you will.” Trimmel slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, if there’s any justice in the world then we’ll get medals for our heroically swallowing our pride to save our formations.”
“I hope you’re right, sir.” Manti worriedly answered.
“So, how do you like being a fourth-commander, you blathering idiot?” Fourth-Commander Enza asked Trimmel as the latter finished receiving the report on the state of his formation.
“At my age, there being no dull moments is exciting,” Trimmel dismissed.
Enza’s face scrunched up. He hadn’t seen combat all day and it was nearly sunset, which he didn’t mind except that he’d still managed to suffer losses in his fourth. “Listen, smart guy, you stole ten of my light cannons and still didn’t have enough to save your position. How many are left, huh?”
“Seven.” Trimmel answered. And five-hundred-fifty of my six hundred-twenty troops, and twenty-five of my thirty-one shiny new machine guns. He continued internally. The hill was bad, but the shelling in the forest had done some real damage. He had lost three Factrix guns to that, and three more were damaged beyond repair by mechanical faults after being thrown around so much in one day. Both the loss of compatriots and the loss of heavy equipment stung for different reasons. Having so many machine guns was why he had put up with his “new” undersized fourth, which was supposed to be over a thousand strong.
“Seven! Where is the Warlord of Severyana, huh? Stay in your lane! If the Queen thought you needed cannons, you would have already gotten them!” Enza yelled.
“Listen, what you should be worried about is your position being taken apart by heavy guns on heavy carriages that you can’t destroy. How about we hear what the Queen has to say about that, huh? Because I got sent permission to pull away your cannons after I had already beat back the first wave with them.”
One of the soldiers, sitting in the nearby fighting trench, said, “Uh, sirs?”
Enza ignored him and kept screaming. “So you think you’re so brilliant that you get to disregard the chain of command? That’s it?”
“’If fighting is sure to result in victory then you must fight’, you ignoramus! I saw how to win and I didn’t want to wait for the Queen to tell you to pretend you understood it after the moment was already gone!”
“SIRS!”
“WHAT?” Both officers turned to look at him.
There were two changelings walking up to the trench lines from the enemy’s side of the battlefield. Both were wearing black tunics and black pants and black… hats? Theirs had brims, but unlike the wide and conical straw hats of the Queen’s soldiers, these ones were tall and deeply ornamental.
The one in the lead was carrying a piece of white cloth on a stick for some reason. His outfit was foreign and heavily-decorated, but it was all styles and symbols Trimmel couldn’t recognize. The two officers faced the pair of strangers as they made it up to the front lines.
The other one was younger, and he spoke first in full view of the many confused changelings. “Der Fuhrer would like to speak with whoever was the commander of the forward position on the hill and in the forest. Alone. Do not worry, we will still be within sight.”
Enza and Trimmel looked at each other. “You want to talk to him?” Enza asked quietly.
“I kind of want to, just to hear what he has to say.” Trimmel admitted. “Your soldiers will make sure there’s no funny business, right?”
“It’s not them I’m worried about.” Ezra stated, staring at Trimmel.
“Oh, seriously?” Trimmel loudly whispered. “Go to hell, Enza. I’m going to see what he wants. If I get shot, my boys might beat you to death.” He turned and walked over to the trench and jumped over it. The assistant of the ‘fuhrer’ was young, but on closer inspection, the ‘fuhrer’ was also not much older than Trimmel himself, he just had eighty years of weathering on his face that made him look fifty from a distance instead of thirty.
The trio moved a few steps away from the defensive line in silence. When they were distant enough that they could talk without being heard, the black-coated strangers turned to Trimmel. He turned into the one that seemed to be the leader, and asked, “So what do you want to talk about?”
In a day full of bizarre occurrences, the strangest was yet to come. The leader spoke, in the most halting and clumsy changeling Trimmel had ever heard... and the dullest. “I find your tactics worth considering.” He managed to eke out through his veil of unearned confidence. Every word had a strange candor to it on top of being the wrong one for the situation. “Please tell me what you think about Chrysalis.”
“I was in Severyana. If I came back after that, then it’s safe to assume that I love Queen Chrysalis, as any right-thinking changeling should.” Trimmel retorted. “And even there I never met anyone who wielded our language as amateurishly as you do. I didn’t even know that was possible for a changeling.”
The junior of the two stepped forwards. “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s not from around here… in a way. I assure you, though, Dieter Heinrich is the future of the nation.”
Trimmel cocked an eyebrow.
“As I said, he’s not from around here. I’m Rosin Lyctia, future doctor of politics, and his translator.” Rosin stretched out his hoof.
“It’s not that. I thought it was some sort of fake assumed name. So it’s the Saturnalians we’ve been fighting?” Trimmel replied.
“[Indeed.]” Dieter said in heavily-accented yet accurate Severyanan with a flatness that transcended translation issues. “[My co-revolutionaries are pathetic, and I’m here to do better. Are my panzers not terrifying?]”
“[That they are,]” Trimmel admitted. Rosin was staring baffled at the exchange, but that was fine. “[I’ve dealt with Prandialists before, and was shocked to find that they had such a leader. I do not know what you want, but it’s no surprise that you don’t like them either, you are at least a general of vision. But why are you fighting with them instead of against them?]”
“[Because I need some help to get to the point where I can win with my own army alone. The Prandialists are motivated, but their minds are possessed by the strangest form of degeneracy I’ve ever seen.]” Dieter explained. “[And that’s why I fight also against the Queens. Their weakness allowed these terrorists to fester and grow, and so they too must be replaced by a leader who can truly live up to the spirit of the changeling kind.]”
“[You.]”
“[Maybe. Maybe not. No matter what, if such a leader exists, I won’t sit idle while they struggle to bring the race back to its former glory. No matter who it is or where they are found, my army will be their sword.]” Dieter looked to the ramparts, and at Enza, who was watching suspiciously with his troops. “[I have found few who could possibly have the mandate of destiny that is needed, but everyone I’ve met with a spark of it has joined my band so far. So I repeat, what do you think about Queen Chrysalis? I can’t imagine she was happy that you requisitioned the cannons needed to save the battle without conferring with her.]”
Trimmel smirked. “[How do you know I didn’t ask?]”
Dieter stared blankly at him. “[Don’t dodge the question.]”
“[She was quite pleased. Royal armies are plagued with lack of initiative, and I admit I may have it in excess, but I’ve always suspected that my promotion was fast-tracked and that that was why. And for what it’s worth, after your second attack, I found that her orders would have been to do exactly what I did.]”
“[Interesting.]” Dieter expressed and then paused. After a few seconds of thought, he continued. “[Could I meet Queen Chrysalis? There may be a small army for her cause if I think she is the one I’m looking for.]”
Trimmel Is A Bad Co-Worker
The Campaign of 986 was like pulling teeth, but it could have been a lot worse. The surprise alliance with Dieter Heinrich and his Saturnalian militias proved to shift the balance in the favor of the Queen’s armies decisively, and soon enough, after much bloody street fighting, the Third Great Strike was defeated, and so was the Second Wind Revolt, and then so was the Great Betrayal.
It was in this milieu, this brief period where the entire future of the nation was undecided yet bright and the nation was for all intents and purposes finally whole again, when the most significant game of poker ever played took place.
Dieter Heinrich was in the running to become the leader of the Queen’s Guard. His visionary new method of warfare had proven itself, he was swiftly becoming close with a number of significant figures, and the old head of the Queen’s Guard had been delivered in a bloody sack to Chrysalis by him when the retrograde fool had tried to take matters into his own hooves. The position demanded paranoia, loyalty, and political popularity, and Dieter had shown all three, constantly surging forward recklessly for the Queen with one force while defending against even the most unpredictable of attacks with another.
Trimmel had been promoted to Fifth-Commander after his superior had been killed in action and no other Fourth-Commander beneath him had any wherewithal. He had his sights set on Seventh-Commander, the position Chrysalis technically occupied but would become available as the army grew to encompass all five great hives. He might even be able to snag Eighth-Commander, depending on how things went.
A few days after the victory celebration, they, and the other officers and leaders of the victorious army, dragged their soldiers out of their hangovers, put them back on patrol, and then started to celebrate their victory.
“I’m thinking that our little vacation is going to be starting soon. What are you planning for your night out on the town?” Trimmel asked Dieter in the stone tunnels beneath Lyctida’s central palace. Arclights bathed the entire area in a homely brown glow, and the air was pleasantly earthy.
“I figured I would simply rest at home.” Dieter said. His changeling-speak had improved incalculably in the last eight months.
“You have a home?”
“I’ll find one.”
“Come on, my friend. If you’re going to be a true patriot, you need to engage with some of the pleasures we have to offer.” Trimmel laughed, nudging him.
Dieter stared at him. “I have no interests in prostitutes.”
“No, not prostitutes, not if you don’t want. But you got to do SOMETHING. Watch a movie, play some Griffball, getting drunk and badly singing songs is popular now, I don’t know what you do for fun but you have to find something. You can’t be all business.”
Dieter grimaced. “I don’t actually get paid, you know.” Trimmel stared at him right back. “What? I’m not actually a soldier, officially. Technically I’m not even a citizen. I’ve been living off of donations and logistics.”
“By the Queen, that’s horrible.”
“No, I’ve always kept the medical corps well-supplied.”
Trimmel rifled around in his pockets. “Alright, I’ll give you some cash for a night or two ‘on the town’ as they say in Severyana.”
“No.”
“No?” Trimmel walked in front of him. Dieter was a big guy, for Trimmel at least, and well-filled. He had heard the circumstances of Dieter’s emigration, and he didn’t understand all of it, but he guessed that Dieter had been properly fed as a youngling, and that he was what an average changeling looked like without developmental malnutrition. Dieter was not the kind to start petty fights, though. “Why not?”
“I won’t take your money when I won’t spend it.” Dieter flatly explained.
Trimmel reached back into his pockets. “Well, then. If you won’t accept help, I’ll have to be cruel to be kind and force it on you.” Dieter raised an eyebrow. “Last time we went up against each other, you won by inventing the next generation of warfare and fighting an army that had no idea it was even possible. It wasn’t a true test of leadership. So I’m going to throw down the sword and say that you’re a bad general to all my friends, and if you want me to stop, you have to beat me in a contest where I’M the one setting the rules.” Dieter raised an eyebrow. Trimmel pulled out a deck of playing cards. “Where you come from,” Trimmel asked, “do they have Poker?”
A gaggle of officers burst in through the cafeteria door. The room was empty at this time of day except for Trimmel and Dieter sat at one of the tables, a fresh and unopened pack of playing cards in front of them. In the new crowd was Enza and Manti, plus Rosin in his black coat and another of Dieter’s friends who Trimmel didn’t recognize. “Have you started yet?” Manti asked breathlessly.
“No, we’re still figuring out what we’re playing for, you showed up just in time.” Trimmel said before turning to Dieter. “So if you win, you get three months wages out of me. 30,000 Yo’an is a lot. What’s something that’s just as valuable to you?”
“Hold on,” Dieter interrupted. “You’re the one who wants to give me money. Why am I playing for it?”
“You think I want to give you that much cash? I’m not a charity, you know.”
Dieter groaned painfully and rubbed his forehead. He reached into his coat with his hoof and pulled out a pistol, a semi-automatic that was unlike anything Trimmel had ever seen, and placed it on the table. It was so futuristic and sleek and factory-made, and it had a miniscule trigger that no hoof could possibly grasp through the equally-sized trigger guard. It was a strange weapon for Dieter, who wasn’t in the habit of using his magic, but Trimmel realized that it was an artifact from Dieter’s past life where his biology was different.
“Oh, yes. That’s beautiful.” Trimmel said.
“It’s mine.” Dieter replied. “Since you are very annoying, I’m going to win just to spite you.”
Manti reached into his coat and puled out a box of cartridges for his service revolver. “These will work as chips, right?” He asked. Trimmel looked at Dieter, who showed no reaction, so he just shrugged. Forty short pistol rounds landed primer-down on the table and were split in a green aura, half going to Trimmel and half to Dieter.
Trimmel chuckled. The fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed above them. The four other officers were watching intently. Let the games begin.
He dealt out two cards to Dieter and two to himself. He had the King of Hearts and the Two of Spades floating in front of him. Dieter’s cards must have been equally unimpressive, since he seemed to slouch down a little when he saw them, or maybe it was just a trick of the light.
The officers had split up, the Royal Army ones now watching from Trimmel’s side and Dieter’s friends besides him. It was almost instinctual, but everyone knew that the others were partisans for their commander and didn’t want them feeding their own cards to their rival. Trimmel turned around to Enza and said, “Hey, could you get us some water?”
Rosin spoke up. “If they have any spiced jerky left, I’d like some. Actually, nevermind, I’ll just get it myself.”
Enza nodded and the pair moved to the cafeteria table to get the refreshments. Trimmel and Dieter both moved one bullet to the center of the table as the cards in Trimmel’s magic flipped around each other to keep his concentration busy.
“I won’t raise here.” Dieter said. Trimmel shrugged again and dealt three cards onto the table from the deck. QH, 3C, 9C. Dieter waved away the option to raise here also, but Trimmel moved five more bullets into the center of the table. Dieter matched it rather than back down, still no clear emotion on his face. A fourth card came out. 6S. Then a fifth. QS.
Rosin had tried and failed to strike up a conversation with Enza at the mostly-empty cafeteria line. As they were returning, one of Enza’s hooves landed on something wrong, and he pitched over ever so slightly before his next step sent him onto his side, loudly collapsing onto Rosin and spilling his water all over the floor, himself, and the other changeling. The glasses thunked loudly against the tile. Like everyone else in the room, Trimmel jolted in response.
Giving him so much grief over the most important move of that first battle had meant that Enza had done Trimmel a great wrong. He owed the newly-minted fifth-commander a favor in return. His fall was not an accident and he hadn’t really slipped on anything. When Trimmel “recovered” from the shock, he had the King of Hearts and the King of Diamonds in front of him, and the Two of Spades up the left sleeve of his greatcoat.
He was so satisfied that he didn’t quite notice at first that his left arm had been pinned to the grey table under someone else’s magic. All three cards were lying flat against the slick surface, and Dieter was looking at him with the same expression of tranquil fury as he always had. “I don’t think that this game was really spontaneous.” He spoke. “Are you going to play fair, or not?”
Trimmel grimaced. “Good catch. You’re a cut above the usual.” The magic was released and Trimmel pulled himself back into his seat.
Enza looked at the table as he picked himself up. “Trimmel, you cheating bastard! I want my cigarettes back!” He yelled as he grabbed the officer by his coat.
Oh, hell. “Sorry, Enza, I already smoked them!”
Someone was laughing at the door. Synovial had heard the commotion and the rumors of Trimmel playing Dieter and had come to watch. He was the oldest in the room by far, and the highest-ranked, but had a quiet dignity for it that meshed well with his seemingly effortless confidence. “Hey, you need some help keeping this moron honest?” He snarked.
“Thank you for the offer, comrade, I believe I will take it.” Dieter said, staring at Trimmel as he had his wits shaken out of him by Enza.
Synovial casually strolled over. “Alright, I’ll help. Enza, get off him!” The furious officer stepped back at his superior’s command and saluted. “At ease. Trimmel here needs to learn how to get things done without reaching into a bag of tricks anyways.” The old military bug grinned maliciously.
In Severyana, clothes were a political statement more than anything. Plenty of ponies did without whenever they weren’t anywhere that demanded a uniform. A lot of changelings were nervous about being naked after generations of grey clothes being mandatory in public (that way rebels couldn’t wear uniforms to clearly distinguish friends from enemies without being out of place), but after his time out east, Trimmel wasn’t one of them.
Which was good because all his clothes were now on a bench about ten meters away.
He nearly had an entire second deck of cards hidden in that coat, and all he’d managed to get out was an Ace of Hearts that he was currently sitting on. What really stung was that, years ago, Manti had taught him how to hide cards in the holes in his limbs, so this wasn’t even going to keep him from cheating, he was being cold for nothing.
Dieter’s portion of the pistol rounds were in a tight four-by-six square, with two extra off to the side. Trimmel’s were less well-organized. The score was Dieter 26, Trimmel 14.
Synovial dealt out the first four cards of the second round as both players moved a bullet to the center. Dieter looked annoyed as usual. Trimmel got a 5H and a 4C. Neither party raised. The next three cards were an 8S, a KH, and a 4S. Trimmel had one pair, so he raised by a bullet. Dieter matched him expressionlessly.
The next card was a 5D. Trimmel now had a two pair, so he raised by two more bullets. Trimmel matched him again.
The next card was a 3C. Trimmel considered raising again, but the position was hardly unbeatable, and if he got too aggressive he might get frisked again, and he was still sitting on a card. He had good odds of winning, he didn’t need to risk a forfeit.
It had been a long time since he’d had this much on the line in Poker and hadn’t been cheating like a libertine. He didn’t need a reminder of how much he hated it.
Dieter didn’t raise either. Both sides revealed their cards. Dieter had a one-pair with an 8H, and a 6D that accomplished nothing. It lost to Trimmel’s two-pair of 5’s and 4’s. Trimmel took four bullets back and everything went into the discard pile.
The score was Dieter 22, Trimmel 18.
“See? You can play fair and still win.” Synovial said mockingly.
“Not if I can help it,” Trimmel quipped. “Now deal the next cards.”
The two officers Dieter had brought with him were talking to each other a short distance away. “What are they going on about?” Manti asked quietly.
“Whether gambling is befitting of a true patriot.” Dieter answered.
“It’s a bad habit, isn’t it?” Rosin yelled so that the whole table could hear him from where he was.
“Only in excess.” Dieter replied. “And excess is often what it turns into.”
Trimmel’s cards were a KD and a JS. Dieter chose not to raise beyond the first bullet.
Synovial dealt the first three cards. KC, JD, 6D. Trimmel had two pairs already, and could get a flush if the next two cards were also Diamonds, or even a full house if he was especially lucky. He started twisting his face into a practiced act of concern. The goal was to look like he wasn’t sure of a win, but also like he was trying to hide it.
Dieter raised by four. Trimmel raised by three more. Dieter matched him. That meant that Trimmel could look like he was worrying about his odds since his opponent seemed to have faith in his own cards. The more confident Dieter got and the more he bet, the more Trimmel would take off of him when he won.
Except that Dieter had just put down seven bullets without seeming to notice that Trimmel was supposedly uncertain of his odds. That was worrying. Trimmel’s mind raced with ways he could possibly get one of his guys to see what Dieter had without him or Synovial catching on so that he could tell if he had made a mistake. He had a few methods, but none of them worked here, they all involved him having access to the room before the game started.
He’d been sloppy, relying on his allies alone to carry him. After so many impromptu games where that was all he needed, he’d gotten lazy. He cursed himself.
The fourth card was drawn. It was the Ace of Diamonds. Dieter raised by three. Trimmel matched. He really, really, REALLY wished that the next card would give him a full house, he needed the security now that he was 7 bullets deep. His faked lack of confidence was becoming real. At least Dieter didn’t seem like the type to wager his entire stockpile on any set of cards, but damn, his must be really good for him to go this far with it. Unless he was trying to psyche out Trimmel in return.
Was he bluffing? Trimmel looked at Dieter. His face was stony and unmoving, and his voice never changed tone except that occasionally he became slightly annoyed. Was Dieter the kind to fake his strength? “Hey, Dieter?” Trimmel asked.
“Yes?”
“Do you think leading armies in war is more like Poker, or like Chess?”
Dieter paused. There was a subtle change in his attitude, but Trimmel couldn’t see anything definite besides a slight shift towards pensiveness. “I suppose that it is like chess. It’s very logical, very precise and mathematical. If you had enough information, you could know everything that happens and pre-empt it.”
That was not the answer Trimmel wanted. The Chess/Poker divide was something he’d found in Severyana and the ones who treated war like Poker were always trickier in the game and on the field of battle. The problem was that Dieter was dumping huge amounts of risk onto one move while telling Trimmel that he didn’t believe in tricks.
Dieter continued. “Even Poker has elements of it. For example, my cards are very strong right now. I don’t know if you think yours are even stronger or what, but I’m just betting based on how much I should expect this to win in most games.”
“You overplayed yourself.” Trimmel commented, smirking. “For a second there, I was worried, but nobody’s that confident in pure statistics. Synovial, draw the last card.” It was a 6H. With Trimmel’s KD and JS and the other cards on the field, he had two pairs, but missed a flush or full house. “You can fold, you know.” He mocked Dieter.
“My cards haven’t gotten any worse.” Dieter answered.
“So are you going to raise?” Trimmel asked.
Dieter thought for a second. “Sure.” He pushed three more bullets forward. Trimmel did the same. You tried to death-dive me into giving up my position, now eat your loss, he thought.
They revealed their cards. Dieter spoke without a hint of pride or accomplishment. “Three of Diamonds, Nine of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, Six of Diamonds, Ace of Diamonds. A flush beats your two-pair.”
“GOD DAMNIT!” Trimmel yelled as he pounded the table with his arm.
“Did you think I was joking?” Dieter asked soullessly as he grabbed the bullets and moved them into his stack.
Trimmel took a deep breath to try and bring down his nerves.
The score was Dieter 32, Trimmel 8.
Dieter felt like ants were crawling on his brain, only stopping to bend down and take a bite. His muscles ached in revolt at continuing to be a part of his body. He could hardly think, and when he was able to string together a full thought, it suddenly fell away in front of him to be replaced by the wailing of the damned or visions of one of the many, many bodies he had seen in his life.
Damn Trimmel, damn his co-conspirators, damn the game, damn this entire hive and everything that crawled in it! He wanted to go to his room and immerse himself in his stash of morphium, the only friend that had yet to abandon him in a hail of fire and blood and pain. If it weren’t for the threat of that stupid damned rumor, he would have left long ago, even if it meant killing someone!
He looked around. Some of the monstrous beings around him were staring at him with their grotesque blue eyes, and his heart twisted itself raw when he recalled for the millionth time that he was one of them now, a slick-shelled black insect the size of a man living in a hole that smelled of decay. They were expecting him to respond to Trimmel’s pensiveness across the table, but he was fine sitting where he was and trying not to break down.
Hold it together, Dieter. You’re almost done. Then you can get out of here. Just a little longer, then the pain will go away. Just a little longer.
He refocused on the cards he had just been given through the haze of pain and madness. A Jack and a 2. He’d manage.
Trimmel checked what he had been given again. The Ace of Hearts and the Five of Clubs. He’d hoped for a better starting set. Well, he could get a 1 pair by taking the card he was sitting on, but he wished he could use that to get a big finish, not to claw himself out of a hole. He and Dieter both pushed a bullet into the center of the table for the starting bet. He couldn’t give up here.
Synovial put the first three cards down. 2H, 8D, 7D. A pair of aces would beat anything that Dieter could get out of this so far, but he wasn’t sure. His only hope seemed to be to bet it all on this round. So what were the odds of that working?
He reached into the part of his mind that handled counting the cards and drew the complete roster of what had been pulled. There were a lot of court cards and low-value cards that had been drawn and discarded, but high-value hearts and clubs were the remainder. There were still two aces outside of the one he had, and one was the real version of the Ace of Spades he was sitting on. Odds were very low Dieter happened to have it. And hell, if someone pulled it later, he could either accuse Dieter of cheating or swap it out for the 2 he had pocketed.
He had reasonably good odds of a flush, but that was about it, and those odds were only good by flush standards. Beyond a one-pair of aces that he cheated for, chances of everything were bad. Darn.
He knew he would wind up betting all of his remaining bullets this match, the question was when. Was Dieter lying to him then when he said he wasn’t letting Trimmel affect his strategy? He hoped so, the best odds were a bluff. He pushed four of his seven remaining bullets forwards. Dieter matched him.
The fourth card was 7C. That was bad. No 7 had been played yet and now there were two on the field. If Dieter had a third, and he very well could, it would be three-of-a-kind. If that blind retard didn’t back down in front of Trimmel, it was over. Neither side chose to raise the bet.
The fifth card… oh, that glorious fifth card. Trimmel would have bet it all on this one no matter what, but when it was the Ace of Clubs, he knew he had it. It was over. Beat that with your three 7’s, you prick! Now he just needed a way to get his hidden ace into his deck.
It struck him that Manti was no longer in the room. He wondered who else had noticed. “Hey, where’s Manti?” He asked.
“He remembered he had a meeting with a friend and ran off a few minutes ago while you were staring at your cards.” Synovial mockingly said.
Perfect!
As the joke had gone in officer training, ‘Manti doesn’t have friends!’ Although it was no longer true, that was the signal that he saw how desperate things were and was going off to pull some stunt that would keep him out of the room for the rest of the match, an act of last resort. It was a shame that the otherworldly artifact wasn’t something that could be split, normally that was how was compensated for this kind of thing.
Trimmel just had to hold off for a few minutes. “You know, Dieter, you seem very good at this for someone who doesn’t like playing.” He spoke as he pushed all of his remaining bullets into the center. All of them. Dieter, you poor fool, you’ve really gotten under my chitin, and now I’m going to enjoy taking all my chip-cartridges back.
“Many of my comrades liked to play to pass the time.” Dieter explained. “I learned the ropes a bit so I could go with them. Now I just like playing with the numbers in my head. It’s a nice distraction, I’m sure you understand.”
“I do. Say, this might be the biggest pot you’ve ever gambled over, isn’t it?”
Dieter thought for a second. “I believe so, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I see. I just enjoy the thrill of the game. It’s not just having cards up my sleeve, you know. I’ve got all the tricks, from the minor to the downright felonious. It’s rare for me to lose. But you’re a good one, I’m excited for more than just getting something new, I feel like I’m not destined to win for once.” Trimmel explained back.
“How about you, then?” Dieter replied. “What’s the most you’ve ever won?”
“A company of troops. In Severyana, I beat a communist in Poker for control over around two hundred of his fighters.” Trimmel smirked impishly. “Little did he know that, if he had won, he would have taken control of a ‘company’ of random convicts we press-ganged just for the match. They weren’t even out of jail yet. Now that I think of it, though, a weapon from another dimension would certainly be one of the most interesting things I’ve ever won.”
“Have you ever considered playing honestly?”
“’Only cheaters prosper’, Dieter. Infiltrator’s code.”
“Hm. Any other nuggest of wisdom from the code?”
“’If you’re not willing to shell your own position, you’re not willing to win.’”
Dieter paused. “That’s a good one.”
Trimmel sat back, letting his nostalgia show. “I thought that a lot of those sayings were hokey, but damn, when I was in Severyana, and I’d lost contact with the CO, and it was just me and my insurgent cell versus the world with a vague mission objective at the end, reminding myself of the basics is probably how I got through it.”
“I think everyone is shocked by which parts of their training are the most useful when they’re in combat,” Dieter added. “You see it all-“ The lights flickered and he stopped himself. Then they shut off.
“What the hell?” Rosin said.
“The lights went out,” The officer behind him replied.
“You idiot, we can see that!” Synovial added.
Someone sighed. “I’ll-“ The lights came back on. “Oh, nevermind.” Rosin continued. “Guess we’re back in business.”
Trimmel looked around. Nobody suspected a thing, except for Enza, who could see the 5C in one of the holes of Trimmel’s arms, pressed against the side. He knew that Trimmel hadn’t had two aces when the lights went out, but he wasn’t going to help one of these Saturnalian barbarians embarrass a fellow Royal Army officer, and his face showed it. Trimmel turned to Dieter. “Well, that was exciting. Now, are you going to match my call?”
Dieter pushed four more of his own bullets into the center to make 16.
Synovial looked from one to the other. “Since you can’t raise it any higher, let’s see what you both have got.” Cards hit the table. Trimmel could feel the happy-chemicals preparing to surge from his brain as he got back in the game.
Dieter had a two-pair with his 2C and the 2H, plus the two sevens in the center. Trimmel had had nothing to worry about, equipped with all three of the unplayed aces and those same two sevens making a technical full house and a practical three-of-a-kind. Yet, Dieter looked angry. He looked angry. Why did he suddenly look angry? Trimmel knew it wasn’t because he had just lost. Dieter wordlessly reached over to the pile of discarded cards and started taking them off the top five or ten at a time. When he reached the last few, he revealed the first two cards he had been given in the game, which Trimmel hadn’t had the chance to see due to the fact that he was being disrobed when they were discarded.
The Nine of Hearts, and the Ace of Spades.
Dieter even reached across the table to put the AS from the discard pile right next to the one Trimmel had had in his cards, just to accent the point. “You said you would play honestly,” he forced through gritted teeth. Synovial burst out laughing. Enza looked away in shame at being in the same corps as Trimmel. Rosin put his head into one of his hooves, and his friend rolled his eyes and walked off.
Someone slapped Trimmel on the back. “Well, I’d say ‘better luck next time,’ but maybe you should stop making your own luck, eh, buddy?” Synovial snarked. “Say, wasn’t this for three months wages from you? I happen to know exactly how much that is, so we can watch you give it up without worrying that you’re still trying to cheat.”
“So how’d you get out of paying?” Manti asked over a cup of pork stew.
Trimmel idly stirred his own cup as he stared at the table. He was back in his overcoat and military-blue scarf. “I didn’t.”
Manti whistled. “Trimmel paying what he owes, I never thought I’d see the day...”
“You still haven’t, smart-ass, you were out of the room at the time. And if that’s not enough, you were helping me do it as usual, so this is your failure too.”
“Alright, point taken. Although I played my part exactly as well as I could have, for the record.” Manti threw his arms up theatrically. “So I guess I’m picking up the tab? What with you being 30,000 Yo’an lighter and all.”
“That would be nice, I didn’t have that much on me so they took everything and then sent the Royal Army an IOU in my name for the remainder. Unless I can convince the manager to accept my clothes as payment, I’ve got nothing on me.”
Manti stuffed a big piece of soaked pork into his mouth. Before swallowing, he managed to get out. “Wow, they really gave you the works.” He wiped his mouth. “So, the moment of truth. The question of destiny. What did you learn?”
Trimmel leaned back in his chair. His head rolled until he was staring at the ceiling. “Do not mess with Dieter.”
Manti looked at him. “That doesn’t sound like a plan of action to attain victory in the next battle.”
“It’s not. I’ve been going over it in my head, and I can’t think of anything I could have done to improve my odds of victory. He plays like he fights. He knows himself and his limits, and barely reacts to his enemy. There’s nothing to grab onto to pull him in your own direction.”
“So he’s unbeatable?”
Trimmel sat up suddenly. “No. He’s very beatable. But only if your cards are better than his. Only then.”
“I think you need something a bit more alcoholic. If I didn’t know any better it would sound like you’re about to join him.” Manti said casually as he moved to pick up the menu. Then he stopped himself. He saw that Trimmel had something welling up in his eyes, a grim purpose that could move mountains. “You aren’t going to, right?”
Trimmel looked at him with deathly seriousness. Then he smiled and burst out laughing. Manti did the same, nearly spilling his stew as he steadied himself against the dinner table. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to be putting on a black coat and calling folks ‘untermenschen’ or anything. As long as the Queen keeps giving me soldiers and directions, I’m sticking as close to her as possible.” He took a big sip from his own neglected cup of stew. “Not going to fight that psycho again, though. Even if I’m not going to be his vassal, I will try to stay an ally of his. That’s manageable, and besides, you should hear his theories on ‘armored warfare’, they’re so brilliant I’m going to rewrite them into my Severyana memoirs. You know, in that section about the machine-gun carts. Point is, I have a lot to learn from him, and something tells me that the Royal Army will have a lot to learn from us.”
“Not just you,” Manti added. “Did you hear that Ms. Factrix has been getting into very energetic debates with him about technology? Word has it that she’s becoming obsessed with mass-producing machine guns that common soldiers can wield.”
Trimmel leaned over the table. “Is that so?”
“So the rumors say, at least.” Manti admitted. “Still, if it’s true, then Dieter’s getting his own power bloc. Running alongside him might put you in a good position.”
“Mark my words, it’s true.” Trimmel stated. “And I bet Dieter didn’t plan any of this. He just let things fall where they would and now he has his own political faction with two high-ranking government servants in tow. See what I mean when I say he can’t be beat unless you have better cards?”
“Honestly, that’s more a factor of your style than anything. I’ve been helping you cheat at card games for years now and I’m still shocked sometimes by your insistence on not playing fair. Although he does have me spooked, too.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right that it’s a style thing.” Trimmel pointed at him casually. “Anyways, we’re just lucky that he has the weirdest ambitions I’ve ever seen. I still think that he legitimately believes Queen Chrysalis is going to fix the world and that it’s his duty to support her, however the hell that works when you’re a former rebel warlord. Although…” He whispered conspiratorially. “I bet Synovial could beat him.”
“You have a plan, huh?”
“You’re damn right I do. I’m going to support Dieter and Synovial to the Queen at the same time. Dieter and his radical ideas will make our country strong, Synovial will owe me a favor, and the Queen will see me pushing for massive changes while also trying to keep them in check at my own expense, raising her estimation of me. And since Dieter doesn’t know what’s going on, he won’t catch that I’m playing for and against him at the same time.”
Manti rubbed his hooves together. “My, what an idea. Looks like you really have learned something from all this.”
Trimmel stretched out. “Yeah, thanks for helping me work through this. I’d offer a toast to our future success, but it doesn’t feel right to ask a subordinate to pay for drinks.”
“Guess we’ll have to postpone it until your next paycheck comes in.”
“Or…” Trimmel grinned. “We could play a game for it. They took all the spare cards out of my coat as they were taking all my money, but I got to keep the deck we were playing with.”
Manti grinned back. “No.”
