Green Hills was still half asleep when Dree stepped off the train. As he’d intended.

A few merchants were sweeping their stoops. Someone in an apron was setting out a rack of fresh bread. Normal life. The sort of place that preferred its problems small and far away.

Dree kept his coat collar high and his hat low. Nothing about him looked military. That was the point of Working Uniform Foxtrot. Just an ordinary traveler, on an ordinary trip, minding his own business. He retrieved his luggage and crossed the platform without drawing a glance and walked straight to the telegraph office on the corner.

As he did, he noticed ten or so nondescript people move to gather their bags and start heading in different directions. Excellent, he thought. I wasn’t sure Herrera would remember to keep that brim pulled down. Gambone’s shirt, now—that’s a little too neat. I’ll have to make sure Juno tells him to work on that. And they’re all moving in the same general direction, but not too obviously together.

He allowed himself a small, private smile. And the spacing was right, the drift natural. No commotion in the town means the other two trains must have arrived without incident.

As he opened the door, a small bell alerted the clerk behind the counter to his arrival.

“Morning, sir!” The clerk greeted Dree. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it. What can we do for you?”

Dree flashed a wide grin. Game face on, he thought. “It certainly is, sir. Personally, I’m just happy to be off that blasted train. Modern travel is convenient, but someone needs to invent a better cushion.”

The clerk smiled in sympathetic acknowledgement. “I can only imagine, sir. I took the train to Rimshaven last spring to visit my family, but that was only a day trip. Having to sleep on one of those things…ouch.”

Dree sat his suitcases down and leaned wearily on the counter. It wasn’t difficult to play the part of a weary businessman: the cushions on the train were ridiculously hard. “I’m glad you understand, friend. Personally, I’m hoping to stay a few days here in Green Hills and let my backside catch up to me.”

The clerk smiled, completely at ease now. “Well, if you don’t have a place already, I can recommend a couple that might be suitable for you.”

“Thanks, I might take you up on that. I was hoping there’d be a message for me when I arrived. A friend of mine had said he was travelling up this way and might be here when I came through. If he does, he will take care of my lodgings.”

“Always nice to stay with friends, sir.” The clerk opened a drawer filled with several yellow envelopes filed in an order only he could see. “What’s your name, sir, and I’ll check to see if any message have arrived for you.”

“It would be under Dree, Harlan,” Dree said. His identity as commander of the Forty wasn’t widely known outside of the Granblue General Staff, so he didn’t need an assumed name. “It’s possibly addressed to my secretary, Kessler.”

The clerk rifled through the messages, frowned, and then made a second search. “I’m not seeing anything here, Mr. Dree, under your name or your secretary’s.”

Dree’s stomach clenched. This was not the response he’d expected. But his face didn’t betray that. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was really looking forward to meeting up with him. Is it possible that the message could be in transit? My friend lives in Rimshaven. He’s in the military, so I hate to go book a room if he’s riding ahead of the telegraphs.”

The clerk nodded. “If he’s military, their messages usually get priority, but if it was a private communication to a civilian, they can fall between the cracks getting from the military’s network to the normal one. I can reach out to both the military and general telegraph offices in Rimshaven to be sure. Do you want to wait? This should only take a few minutes.”

Dree nodded. Now it was a calculated risk.

If someone in Dunhaven’s military communications command recognized Harlan Dree’s name connected to an inquiry from Green Hills, they might start asking questions. But then, all they would have is a telegraph inquiry from a civilian or at worst, someone on leave, and that’s all the clerk would testify to as well.

To determine if a response was warranted, and then dispatch anyone to intercept him, would take time. By the moment the Dunhavens realized who had passed through Green Hills, the Forty would already be gone. Worst case, they’d slip back through the Freeholds and circle home the long way. Inconvenient, but out of Dunhaven sovereign territory.

He stood at the counter while the clerk tapped out his query. The telegraph key chattered briskly:

GHTO TO RHTO MSG RQ DREE WAIT.
Green Hills Telegraph Office to Rimshaven Telegraph Office: Message request for Dree. Standing by.

A pause. Then:

CNFM NO MSG THX.
No message. Thanks.

The clerk repeated the process with the Dunhaven Strategic Communications Office.

A longer silence this time.
Then the same reply:

CNFM NO MSG THX.

Dree exhaled through his nose—quiet, controlled. That confirmed the symptom, not the cause.

Where the hell was Grant?

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Dree,” the clerk said as he stood up from the keypad. “Neither office seems to have anything for you.”

Dree didn’t have to pretend to let frustration show on his face. “That’s entirely too bad, sir. I appreciate you taking the time to check. I was hoping to see my friend, it’s been a long time, but I guess I’ll have to wait until the next sales convention in Rimshaven next spring. You said you could recommend a hotel?”

The clerk smiled and began to tell him about the three lodgings that Green Hills boasted.

A few minutes later, Dree exited the telegraph office and turned toward the largest of the establishments the clerk had recommended. A block later he turned again onto a side street and then began walking with purpose. Four more turns put him clear of any possible observation. From there he headed for the north side of town.

He called up in his mind the Recon map showing the location of Rendezvous Area Alpha. He then looked around, saw no one watching him, and headed straight into the woods. About twenty minutes later, he was stopped by Guzman and Portugal as he came over a small ridge in a birch forest. Once they confirmed it was him, they pointed the way to the rendezvous area.

He emerged into a clearing where his men were gathered. The ones who’d arrived on his train were busy changing out of their civilian uniforms into Working Dress Oscar – a set of camouflaged shirt and trousers that were designed to work in wooded areas like the Dunhaven forests. As they changed, others who were already geared up were repacking the contents of the new arrivals’ suitcases into field packs.

As Dree entered the clearing, someone said, “Commander on deck.” Everyone stopped and looked at him. In the field like this, standing at attention was silly, and might result in someone, probably Harlan Dree, being shot at by snipers. Those Confederation bowmen had incredible aim and accuracy. Dree could attest to that from personal experience.

“All right everyone, listen up. Field discipline is in effect. Gambone, Herrera, and the rest who arrived with me, keep changing, but pay attention.” Everyone did just that. Field discipline meant, among other things that acknowledgement of orders could be done by either a respectful nod, a quiet “yes, sir,” or a Buckner, depending on the circumstances.

“The good news is we’re all here and undetected. Outstanding work, everyone. The bad news, however, is that Colonel Grant is not here, and left no word for us.”

More than a few people looked startled at that. They understood what that meant.

“Now for those of you who don’t get the significance of Colonel Grant’s absence, let me spell it out. He is the commander of the Sunward Sentinels. They’re the Dunhaven equivalent of the Forty, or they will be when they grow up.”

That brought smiles to a number of faces.

“But the point is that he is the local army commander we were planning to use to provide us with legal authority to operate in this country. And since we haven’t made contact with him, we are now operating outside of our legal authority in a foreign country that we are nominally on friendly terms with. If we screw this up, the Colonel may be explaining to the General Staff why we’re at war, if the politicians in Rimshaven want an excuse to take Granblue down a peg.”

All smiles disappeared at that.

“But we are the Forty, ladies and gentlemen. We do not screw up. If anything, we tighten the screws. Colonel Grant’s absence makes this harder. But as you know, harder is what we do before breakfast. The mission is the same as it was an hour ago. General Order Number Three still applies. And General Ward is still in need. You will be on your toes, and on the bounce.”

The group flashed Buckners acknowledging the instructions.

Dree flashed one back. “Outstanding. Captain Kessler, I’m assuming, deployed with Recon?”

Lieutenant Miro nodded, “He did, sir. They obtained mounts from the livery stables and headed out about twelve hours ago. He said to tell you to bring the General’s coffee with all haste. It’s a long way back to Jackson’s Wharf.”

That brought a grin to everyone’s face, including Dree’s.

“Well, Lieutenant, he’s not wrong. One thing General Ward cannot abide is cold coffee. And I will tell you he is not above even sending the Colonel back to fetch him a fresh cup. So I suggest we gear up and take the man his coffee. Juno, your squad will take point. Everyone else in staggered files, deploying every two minutes. Any questions? No? Then execute.”

Everyone stood up and flashed Buckners at Dree, who returned the gesture. Juno signaled her squad, who then began setting out in groups of three and four.

Harlan Dree began changing into his Working Uniform Oscar, as two others who were waiting began repacking his suitcase into a field pack. We’re coming, Elias, he thought. Just hang on and stay out of the Greybacks’ sight.

jadavidson

Next time in Blood & Dust: Interlude XV – No Joy Found Here

The Book says that the truth will make you free.
Tonight, Sebastian Vire will learn that some freedoms are chains in disguise.

Sometimes the illusion is preferable to reality. – JAD

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