FSE

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*****

In a few minutes, I was seated on an overturned biscuit box, greedily sucking down mug after mug of hot, sweetened tea. By the time I had finished my third one, my paws stopped shaking and my breathing had returned to something resembling normal.

The wounded rabbit from Lark's Rise was also brought in. At least this time, the wolves didn't seem to be using stranglewort-laced arrows, but it would still be all well and good to get the arrow out of his arm as quickly as possible. He stoically endured a procedure that would have had most squaddies, including myself, screaming.

Aethelwulf was warming himself with a large bowl of stew that had been breakfast for a few of his mates, though not one of them disputed his right to their meal. Meadow was matching me mug-for-mug in tea drinking. A dazed Hugo Chestnut was staring blankly at a hunk of bread smeared with hazelnut paste that somefur had thrust into his paw.

Captain Chitterleigh was carefully moved into an alcove in the wall, and made as comfortable as possible.

When my voice returned, I told the squaddies that knew how to use sling-staffs to get their tails up top and man the trenches, and pick their shots against any wolf stupid enough to get within range. There were also to be a few two-fur patrols along the river to make sure that the wolves were to stay back and not try to get any closer.

To make things a little bit more difficult for our "friends," I spent a few minutes and some of my mental energy in camouflaging the squaddies. Given the blowing snow outside, it would be hard to pick them up until it was too late.

Two further things of importance happened right after that. The first was that the Temple's bell began ringing continuously: obviously a signal to all of the surrounding farms. The second was that the King's Messenger that GHQ had promised me before the ops. He was a decidedly out-of-place fennec. I didn't envy how much his ears must have hurt. He stamped his boots on the shelter floor, and gratefully accepted a cup of tea.

"Do you have your VB kit with you?" This was, essentially, a pad of blanks for messages to be sent by the semaphore telegraph ("Vixen's Brush") signals. He guzzled his tea, and then produced an enameled tin box from his shoulder bag. In a few seconds, using the tin box as a desk, he was ready to take dictation.

RETURNED FROM MISSION STOP NO CASUALTIES STOP CHIEF BURGOMASTER RESCUED COMMA ALIVE IN MOSSFORD STOP SAME HAS AUTHORIZED IN WRITING OPS IN YOU HYPHEN SEE STOP SEE WRITTEN AUTHORITY ENCLOSED STOP AMBASSADOR DEAD COMMA EMBASSY DESTROYED STOP ATTACHÉ RESCUED COMMA ALIVE IN MOSSFORD COMMA INJURIES NOT KNOWN STOP ENEMY PLANS IMMINENT ATTACK ON FLOURFORD COMMA MOSSFORD COMMA LIKELY IN NEXT DAY STOP MESSENGER CARRYING INTELLIGENCE DOCUMENTS STOP CHIEF BURGOMASTER TO RIDE WITH MESSENGER STOP PROPOSE DEFENCE OF MOSSFORD AS LONG AS ABLE STOP SIGNED WINTERBOUGH MESSAGE ENDS

"Right. That's to be in Standard Field Code. Read that back, will you?"

The King's Messenger read it back, briskly.

"Good. Better get going before the snow gets deeper."

"No, wait, blast it! Don't send that message!"

Every one in the room who was conscious turned and saw that the fur who countermanded my order was no less that Captain L. O'Bloom, in uniform and sword.

"Tear that up. We're evacuating this post, now. Message begins..."

"What?!"

"Shut up, Corporal. You're not in charge here, I am."

"The Netherhells you say. Haven't you read my orders?"

"I don't need any damned orders to know who's an officer and who's a loudmouthed enlisted fur. Now shut up. Message begins..."

I got up and slammed my enameled cup to the ground.

"No. Messenger, you've got your communication. Get the Burgomaster and get going."

The walrus' whiskers quivered. "Damn you, I told you to shut up, Corporal."

"And I'm telling you, don't interfere with my orders, Captain. The ones you've had on your desk for months, now. Are you going to back off, Captain?"

"No, blast it, I'm going to..."

Unluckily for him, I was a lot faster at drawing my short-staff than he was at drawing his sword. A few seconds later, he was clutching a probable broken wrist, and gasping in a mixture of anger and pain.

"It'll be the firing squad for you, Corporal, I'll see to that..."

He was about to say something more, when he was interrupted by a light-green flash and a three-toned chime. All of us looked around, in time to see the image of the crown that Meadow's Blood Seal had projected rise and fade. When she was satisfied that all had seen and heard her authority, she put it away. She folded her paws in front of her, closed her eyes, and began to speak very softly.

"Captain O'Bloom, you are one of two things. You are either an idiot or a traitor. It's lucky for you that it's more likely you're an idiot. Only an idiot wouldn't open a high-priority communication from GHQ. While a traitor might run away and deliver a defensible position to the enemy, it's more likely a panicking fool would."

A small, blued-steel dagger appeared in her paw, with a flick of the wrist. O'Bloom's eyes widened.

"I think you know the credentials I just presented, don't you?"

The walrus could only goggle, and eventually shake his chins in acknowledgement.

"If you'd read the orders, I'm sure you'd know that Corporal Winterbough also has a Blood Seal. Corporal, if you would?"

The shelter soon was bathed in a brief flash of violet light and a different three-toned chime.

"Thank you, Corporal. Now, I'm going to be very brief, because everyone here, especially the Messenger, has things to do. If you insist on ordering a retreat, you will be relieved of duty. I will also find you guilty of cowardice in the face of the enemy, and you will be summarily executed. By me. Count yourself lucky that Corporal Winterbough decided to go for your wrist instead of your neck; he would have been entitled to do so. Of course, if you would like to go on sick call, I'm sure Corporal Winterbough would be happy to put you somewhere."

"There's a monastery not far from here, Meadow."

"I'm sure that'll do. Pity we would have to spare a squaddie to escort you there, Captain O'Bloom. But we can't have you stumbling around in a blizzard, can we? So. Your decision? Silence, I shall interpret as a plea of guilty to cowardice."

The old fraud, who I'm sure was in fact a coward, managed to blurt out a tearful request to be put on sick leave, just in time. Meadow pointed a finger at one squaddie, and ordered him to march his former commanding officer to the monastery, double-time.

I holstered my short-staff, and turned to the Messenger. He'd already packed away his gear and the packet of papers that I'd given him when I was dictating the message, and was draining another mug of tea for the road. He wiped his chin with the back of a gloved paw, and turned to the Chief Burgomaster, who had been watching the proceedings with slack-jawed wonder.

"Come on, sir. Best be going, now. I'll strap you in nice and secure, and get a blanket on you."

He turned to me. "If it's all the same to you, Corporal, I'd rather hit a VB post a few miles west of Flourford. Don't know what the enemy has in the area, but best not meet up with them or refugees. Anything else?"

"Get the message through, that's all I ask."

He smirked and gave a crisp salute. "We always do, Corporal."

In a few minutes, those of us that had not already gone to man the trenches or go on patrol stood and watched as the King's Messenger gently slapped the side of his ant, and it went skittering off cross-country. We could see that he was passing a stream of rabbits coming in on snowshoes, skis, and the occasional country ant. The farmers were gathering in the Temple.

I told Millwright to set up a signal station on the roof of the barracks, and to keep a weather eye (so to speak) on that part of the village and on the signal from the monastery, which I hoped Sergeant Crater had already set up. That order given, I trod down the snowy street of Mossford to the Temple.

Rev. and Mrs. Greengrass were already there, and were busy passing hot tea and small bowls of steamed vegetables to the farmers, who were either busy drinking or eating, looking after their equipment, or praying.

There were a variety of spears, bows and short-swords stacked neatly in small piles on one of the benches, which told me what their intentions were. I caught Auld Tom Burrows' eye, and he replied with a grunt and a nod.

I stepped to the prayer-rail, and for the second time that morning, there was a flash of violet light and a chime from my paw. All of the farmers went to one knee and looked up at me under furrowed brows.

"Raise your right paws."

They all did so.

"Do you solemnly swear, in the sight and hearing of Fuma, the Defender of Hearth and Home, that you will preserve and protect the realm of the High King of Faerie against all enemies, domestic and foreign, to the best of your ability and in conformance with the Regulations for the Imperial and Royal Army as promulgated by His Majesty?"

There was a short, sharp, unanimous burst of "Aye!"

"By the power invested in me by the Crown and pursuant to orders issued by the Marshal and Field Commander of the Imperial and Royal Army, and further pursuant to Section 423 of the King's Regulations, you are hereby enrolled as members of the Imperial and Royal Militia, to serve at His Majesty's pleasure. You will be subject to any and all orders that are issued by duly authorized personnel. This includes Meadow Grainmaster, who I affirm is also invested with the same powers granted to me."

The rabbits got to their feet, and collected their weapons. They were brought to the prayer-rail, as I stepped aside. Each of the farmers armed himself, and then went to their knees before Rev. Greengrass. He went down the line, and gave each of them a vigorous Benedicto Interphalangeal.

That finished, and as they got to their feet, I stepped forward and began to alter their clothes, equipment and fur until they were solid white. It stood out in the interior of the Temple, of course, but in the blizzard conditions that began to prevail outside, they would be nearly invisible.

I conferred with Auld Tom, Boy Tom, and a few of the other farmers, telling them what I had seen coming back from Sainted Oaks. The stolid lepine sucked on his pipe, and pondered.

"Best hit tha chums 'fore they gets comfortable."

That said, he motioned to the half-dozen or so that had skis, poles and bows, and we held a discussion as to the necessity for a sweep of the area just beyond the River. From there, the ones going on snow-shoes could follow up and go as far as Lark's Rise to see what was doing there. For security, we agreed on some challenges and counter-challenges, and I told them where my patrols were on our side of the river. They set out from the Temple, but not before accepting a few more mugs of tea from Mrs. Greengrass.

I returned back up the street, and then past the barracks to the field fortifications. The snow was coming down even harder, which made me glad for the foresight (or the love of comforts) the squaddies had in building the shelters. The roof of the barracks had a small stack of boxes holding down a tent, and I could see Millwright struggling to set up the important equipment. Namely, a miniature semaphore pole and a tin pot for boiling tea-water. Not in that order.

Meadow indicated that she was dead-tired, and I realized that it had been nearly a day since I'd slept, too. She went off to one of the shelters, and I went to the other, passing a sentry posted on the inside. Someone had pinned a map to a table, backing it with a thick layer of cloth, and there were multi-coloured pins stuck all around it, red for the Grand Duke's troops, and blue for ours. There were, I mused to myself, probably not enough red pins to truly represent what we were up against.

"Move the Queen's pawn, Corporal."

The voice from the bed was strained and faint, but was both familiar and very welcome to me. I hurried over to where Captain Chitterleigh was looking at me through the slits in two very puffy eyes.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Not surprised to see you. They told me they'd have one Blood Seal near me, and another around the border, here."

"I don't think you should be talking, sir. You need to rest, and heal up."

"Not sure how much that will do me, Corporal. I was beaten very badly. Or, rather, kicked. I don't know how much is wrong inside of me and...no, don't bother, Corporal..."

I had my paws extended to try some healing.

"It's not going to do any good there...but here, would you mind helping me? Put your paws over my eyes...there..."

In a minute or so, the swelling had gone down around his eyes, and he could see much better.

"Thank you."

"Did you want to know, sir...?"

He briefly raised a paw, and waved it, which made him wince.

"I think it's best, Corporal, if you get a few hours' sleep. You'll need it, being the commander and all."

"Well, you are the senior officer...actually, the only officer here."

"What, no lieutenant?"

It would be very awkward and difficult to explain the whole issue with Lieutenant Kedgeay, so I merely shrugged my shoulders.

"Hmm. Well, listen, Corporal. If you would prefer me to be in command, very well. But I'm in no shape to do anything more than give advice. You're going to have to take charge. Well, you and Meadow. You know what I mean."

"Yes, sir. I'll do my best, sir."

"I've no doubt of it, Corporal. Oh, and one other thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Dashed glad to see you, Winterbough. I'm grateful that you got me out of there."

"Yes, sir. You're welcome, sir."

"Good. Now get to bed. Tell the sentry to wake you in a few hours, and get a report in."

"I will, sir."

He extended a paw, and we clasped, gently.

I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. Who knew a bed made from biscuit boxes and meal bags could be that comfortable?