Burden of Command

Karga

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The command tent was dimly lit, the flicker of the lone lantern casting shadows on maps spread across the heavy oak table and the walls of command tent. General, his silver hair cropped close, sat with his back straight, scanning troop reports which he had his focus fixed on. His calm demeanor exuded authority, the kind that didn’t require raised voices or flamboyant gestures. The quiet scratch of a quill echoed as the Quartermaster, the young royalty assigned to assist him, carefully recorded troop movements, supply tallies, and casualty figures.

The numbers were sobering, even to the untrained eye. Another skirmish won but at the cost of few man which is merely a numerical detail, their names now reduced to a line on the parchment. Supplies were thinning, and the soldiers’ morale, though steady, bore the cracks of fatigue.

Quartermaster hesitated, his quill hovering over the parchment. He glanced at the General, who seemed unshaken by the weight of the report. It was his first time seeing the battlefield; though he was distant from it, before it was just a glance. General calmly broke the silence;

‘’Your silence is unexpectedly non-verbal… Speak plainly, what troubles you?’’

‘’The war…’’ Quartermaster answered.

General, as it wasn’t something that he had never encountered said; ‘’Well, considering that you are in an encampment, you will have more than enough time to get used to it—at least, it would be better if you did.’’

Quartermaster with a smirk;

‘’Considering your inability to care it would not be wrong to say that nobody wants a peace more than a soldier.’’ General, who didn’t seem to offend, answered with composure;

‘’Many say many things, most of them are nonsense. Yet, it’s true. War is not a poem in a history book. It is the stink of blood and burned earth. Those who wield the sword know the true cost of its bite and know, what they wish to avoid.’’ In a relatively unthoughtful manner he had an answer;

‘’Then wouldn’t it also be true that nobody wants war more than a politician; men who sit in gilded halls, far from blood and battle?’’ General, turning softly;

‘’ You think so? Do you believe lords and kings are so eager to sow chaos? That is not entirely fair. Politicians don’t start wars as easily as we night think. It takes more than an ambition to drag a nation into conflict.’’ Looking at his hands as if it was not ink but rather the essence of man that stained his hands as he uses to write, betraying his inexperience in matters of war. Answered with desperation;

‘’They have their ways—rhetoric, propaganda, stirring up fear or pride… I think I have seen enough to know; a well-spoken call-to-arms can rouse the nation. Once the fires are lit, it is not them but us who bleed for it.’’ General had a sudden pause from his writing, looking at the Quartermaster with rather accusing gaze;

‘’You? Wouldn’t that be too pretentious of you to identify yourself with them?’’ After some silence, he resumed;

‘’ It’s not as simple as that. You think it easy to drag a people to war? To hold them there?  Well it seems easy to you because you have never had to do it. But no, it takes more than ambition. The lords may stir the pot, but it is the people’s will—or fear—that keeps the cauldron boiling. Though it is undeniable to accept that it is always the common people who fight and die first. Soldiers, civilians—they bear the immediate cost. And yes, politicians often gain something from war, even if it is only power or influence.’’

With a grim smile Quartermaster said;

‘’ And yet, it is not their sons who die first. Not their hands that grip the spear or bow. What do those soldiers get in return? A medal if they are lucky?’’

General immediately answered;

‘’A chance to have a meaningful place in society…’’ then became a silence which didn’t last long;

‘’Well, that would be the answer which I would give if we were being political. But mostly what they get is a quick death, if they are lucky. A Compensation would be reasonable. But the best of them get to be remembered and carry a legacy.’’ With an annoyed face he answered;

‘’What would a legacy worth if you die helplessly?’’

With a loose zeal;

‘’Oh, I wouldn’t be so hesitant to say that. At least not in my age where the death is nowhere near distant. You are underestimating the will to live’’ said general while continuing the work he does which he barely moved his eyes off of it. Quartermaster burst in silence trying to consume it. Then slowly gazed into General who is still working;

‘’And for you, sir?’’

Stopped writing though didn’t take the quill off of the paper but a sudden delve into memories were apparent from his motionless face;

‘’At worst, it is commanders themselves who bear the heaviest burden. We see the downfall of everything; every failed strategy, every life lost… We carry the ruin, not in the flesh but in the soul. And when the war ends—if it ends—it is us who must live with it. Worse still, we must wear it as a mark of pride. Actually let alone living with it, we wear it. We wear it as a prideful scar because that’s all we have left to justify the chaos that was unleashed. War consumes all; the soldier dies, the farmer starves, the lord burries his son. It consumes even those who command it.’’ Meeting the General’s gaze;

‘’Then we are nothing more than men-in-command who shall wear our victories like fine cloaks but underneath, we are nothing more than wounded men who dare not bleed with the armor forged from grief and guilt.’’ With a near silent voice General answered;

‘’Well said…’’

With an interrupted gasp he asked to General;

‘’Then why do you fight?’ Casting his eyes aside General said;

‘’Because someone must. And because even in war, there is honor to be found—if one is willing to pay its price.’’ His earlier confidence dimmed but not extinguished, he asked;

‘’Do you ever regret it, sir?’’

‘’Regret is a luxury for those who do not act. My duty is not to regret but to endure. That is the burden of command.’’

‘’Is that pride worth the price, father…’’

Turning away to his work with some quick blinks as if he shook of a memory;

‘’That depends on who is counting.’’ Picked the quill up and continued working;

‘’You may leave, get some rest. And don’t bother the dead as they leave no room for debate. Let them be at peace, it is their time to rest. Pity the living’’