An opening chapter...

It is the smell that always surprises me. It has been so long now that we have been fighting, I am inured to the violence, the horror, and yet even so there are moments when I am brought up short by the penetrating influence of smell.

Fear has a number of different odours, I am sure you can imagine what they might be like, but the specific fear of a person that is anticipating pain, who is trapped in a place that is intimidating and unfamiliar, with people that they know to be enemies, that is a very specific smell indeed. I could smell it now, strong and pungent and almost overpowering, even across the room from the young soldier who was tied to a rusted classroom chair maybe eight feet from me. The smell of her fear was washing towards me in waves as I adjusted the camera on its tripod, infiltrating my awareness even though I was not the primary progenitor of said fear.

Jane was pacing slowly behind the restrained soldier, casually running the tip of her stiletto dagger across the exposed brick of the cellar wall. The sound was invasive, unpleasant and I was without doubt that it was having exactly the effect that Jane was going for. I looked up and shot Jane a look that said in our familiar shorthand, “camera’s ready”. She nodded and proceeded to mask up, the cold metal face she now presented to the camera being essentially featureless. Once she was ready she shot a finger pistol at me and I started the recording.

Jane stopped pacing, sheathed the knife, and leaned down to put her masked face next to the soldier’s head, on her shoulder, gently leaning in so that the cold metal touched the side of the terrified woman’s face.

“Hello friends. Welcome to another episode of Welcome to the Rebellion with me, your friend Vox Libertatem, and today’s guest… What’s your name, honey, let the good people know who we’re hosting, would you?”

The soldier stared into the camera, visibly trembling, tears rolling down her face.

Jane applied the very slightest of pressure of her metal visage against the Corporal’s face.

“Corporal Helena Desmond, U…u…US Army, S…s…service Number 1487792214.”

Jane gently patted the Corporal on the head.

“Well done, Corporal Desmond, well done.”

Jane straightened up and fixed the camera in her gaze, casually leaving her hand on top of Corporal Desmond’s head, a move that was insidiously menacing and oddly tender at the same time;

“Corporal Desmond has told us everything we can expect her to tell us, and she has done so without complaint. I want to assure you, dear viewers, that Corporal Desmond will not come to any physical harm. Despite the theatrics we do not torture people, there is no victory more empty than the one born from an abandonment of decency, and let us be real for a moment, decency is almost all that separates me and my comrades and those of you living free, from our enemies.”

Slowly and smoothly Jane moved to the right side of the chair and started to untie Corporal Desmond. She released the Corporal’s hand and foot on that side and then moved across the shot and did the same on her left. Somewhat like a rabbit caught in lamp light, Corporal Desmond did not move, apart from her trembling becoming slightly more pronounced. Jane stepped away for a moment and then stepped back into shot with a bottle of lotion in hand. Kneeling down on the Corporal’s left she squeezed a small pea of lotion onto the fingers of her own left hand and taking the Corporal’s left hand in her right, she started to gently and carefully massage the lotion into Desmond’s left wrist where she had been tied to the chair. Throughout this act of kindness Jane fixed the Corporal’s gaze, showing her with her eyes that she was to receive only care. Finishing with Desmond’s left wrist, Jane stood, crossed the shot again to her right side and performed the same service for the Corporal’s right wrist.

As this unfolded I found myself scrutinising Corporal Desmond’s face, straining to see whether or not any measure of trust was thawing the ice of enmity. I had watched Jane play this role so many times by this point, I knew that there was no need for me to watch her. I gave my entire attention to my appraisal of Desmond. I could certainly tell that she was less frightened, the change was not immediate, but the mere fact of care and tenderness was keying into automatic responses in our captive.

Jane finished tending to Desmond’s wrists and stepped over to the table that was out of shot on stage right. She carefully placed the lotion bottle down and picked up a bottle of water. She stepped back into shot, sank down to sit cross-legged by Desmond’s right hand and offered her the water. Tentatively she accepted the bottle and becoming less hesitant she cracked the seal and raised the neck to her lips, taking a good, confident mouthful.

“So, Corporal, you know what, may I call you Helena?”

Jane waited a beat, and as we were both expecting, Desmond gave a gentle nod before taking another slug of water.

“Helena, then… I want you to know that now you are our prisoner you are not going to be mistreated. I am sorry that we had to restrain you, even for a little while, and indeed that we frightened you a little, but hopefully you can see why we might want to put you on the back foot this way. Anyhoo, I just want to have a brief chat with you before I put you into the general population of our POW camp here. I am sure that you understand?”

This was the crucial moment. Either Desmond would abandon hope and training and agree, or she would cleave to duty, honour and training and simply repeat her name, outfit and DoD ID Number.

Time slowed, and I could feel the tension in the moment, all the while marvelling at how calm and assured Jane remained, or at least appeared to remain.

“Yeah, I guess we can talk.”

And so she was ours.

Fear and isolation followed by compassion, the cocktail we had been amazed to learn months ago could and would turn roughly seventy percent of captives, won the day once again.

Jane snapped her fingers and a couple of similarly masked soldiers, who I knew to be Georgia and Paul, came into shot with a small table and another chair for Jane. Jane sat and thanked them, and they left the shot, returning almost immediately with a plate of fries and a hotdog, which were placed in front of Corporal Desmond, and then they both melted back into the shadows, stage left.

“How long is it since you had hot food, Helena?”

Jane’s question hung there in the air between them for what felt like an age, as Helena stared uncomprehending at the food that had appeared as if by magic. Then the dam burst. Helena sobbed and tears fell from her eyes like a torrent. Jane did not flinch, she simply placed a gentle hand on Desmond’s shoulder, calmly and openly offering her comfort, and rubbing her shoulder very gently as she allowed her the space to weep.

It was only a few moments before the Corporal spoke;

“I haven’t eaten for four days, nothing hot for nine.”

“Please, Helena, eat. We can talk when you are no longer hungry.”

She ate, not greedily, but there was an edge to what we saw; she was not lying, hunger had become her normal.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Helena. So listen, we don’t have to do everything all at once, we can and will talk again, but for now, can you tell me why you were moving up the river where we found you and your comrades? What orders were you given that led you there?”

I saw a moment of doubt flicker across Desmond’s eyes, and I made a bet with myself that she would ask about her brothers and sisters in arms before she would answer.

“Are my squad here? I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I want to know that my people are safe.”

Jane nodded, putting her hands on the edge of the table in what seemed to be a relaxed pose, but I knew there was a readiness there if this next moment went sideways.

“I am sorry, Helena, but I cannot tell you that your whole squad is here safe and sound. They are here. You were unconscious when the fire fight was over, and I am sorry but I have to tell you that four of your comrades were KiA. The rest are here, in the general population, or in the infirmary in one case, though they should pull through, I am told. I take no pleasure in telling you this, I know what it is to fight side by side with fellow soldiers, but I can tell you that their bodies are here in our morgue, and there will be a time to mourn and indeed to do them honour in burial.”

Desmond heaved anew with sudden, deep sobbing, but she quickly collected her composure and then nodded to herself.

“I suppose that it makes no difference now, so I will tell you. We were a reconnaissance squad, our command was about thirty clicks from where I remember you engaging us. We had been tasked with scouting for your forces up the river. We were told that your side had a presence nearby, and also that you had control of the roads in the area, so we needed to move through the open country instead. We were supposed to find you and document your positions, remaining undetected and then return with the intel. It was my CO who suggested that we use the river and the fact that the maps seemed to show woodland along the banks to move and observe. When you engaged us we were about to return to base, as far as any of us knew we had not found any sign of y’all and we were out of water purification so effectively out of water. I guess I should have called the mission a bust twenty minutes earlier and things would have been different?”

Jane gently squeezed Desmond’s shoulder and nodded.

“And, how many did you leave behind at your command, Helena?”

“It was a FOB, a foothold Into this area not a divisional HQ. I suppose the place is sixty strong, including the command structure, nothing too heavy.”

“That’s good, Helena. Any fire teams, any heavy weapons?”

“There is a mortar team, and we had two hummers with Fifties, but nothing more than that.”

“Okay, Helena, that will do for now. My colleagues are going to take you to general population and get you situated, reunited with your comrades. Get some rest and we’ll talk again soon,”

Paul and Georgia came back into shot and gently helped Desmond to her feet and led her out of shot to the door and thence, I knew, to exactly where Jane had told her that she would be taken, the general population area of the camp.

Jane shifted her gaze into the camera, waited a beat or two and then:

“And so, you see, friends, the enemy are not so different from us, but they are struggling to feed their people, they are running out of ideas and with every passing day we are closer to victory. We approach that victory without setting fire to our principles, without stooping to the tactics of our enemies, but in compassion and decency we move towards a victory that is still founded in morality and honour. Good night, keep your wits about you, and your rifle close and tomorrow we will take another step towards the freedom we lost and yearn for so keenly.”

I knew to kill the recording.

Jane pulled off her mask and let out a huge sigh.

“Fuck, this is not getting any easier Hugh. When are they gonna give me the chance to get back out there and stop churning out this propaganda, dude? Seriously?”

I chuckled and started to dismantle the gear to pack it away before moving into editing mode.

“Jane, I know you are itching for a fight, but this is important work. We need to reassure the Free that we are not evil fucks and hopefully some of this trickles out into the Republic’s Net and the people we are trying to rescue from them will start to fucking help out instead of eating the shit they’re fed. Either way, doing this means I haven’t had to blow some wide-eyed kid away for what, seven months now? I like this way to do my part.”

Jane looked up into my eyes and I could tell she was equal parts disappointed in me and totally in agreement with me; the conflict within her was palpable.

“Hugh, I just want it done and over. You think I want this? You think I like the fighting? I was a fucking English Teacher. Nineteen months ago I was standing in front of a classroom of kids opening their minds and hearts to Shakespeare and then a month later I was in my first fire fight, made my first kill. If we’re here I’m not helping end it, I am just keeping it going, aren’t I? Aren’t we? Jerome told me last week that we think the Republic is all but finished, we’ve cut off their supply lines, they are not just running out of ammunition, but food and medical as well. I just want to get it done.”

I did understand, of course I did, but I also knew that getting a surrender from the Republic was only the very beginning. There would be tribunals and demilitarisation and the real work of building a country again from scratch. What we were doing was building a record of the proof we had been right all along. Proof that there is such a thing as a morally just war.

“I know, Jane, I know. I don’t want you to go, but if Jerome asks I’ll tell him that we can do this without you. I do understand, but I wish you’d help me see this through. You know well enough that I was a barista, not as lofty as your former calling, but equally as distant from all this blood and muck, you know? I want it over just as much as you do, but I want it over in a way that leads to something better than before, otherwise what was it all for?”

Jane slumped forward in her chair, letting the table hold her up and laughed. She looked up at me and fixed her eyes on me while sporting what can only ever be described as a shit-eating grin;

“Alright you old bugger. I’ll stay and help you with the hearts and minds, but when we get word that it’s time for one last big push I am heading to the front, ok?”

“OK. Now let’s go get a drink and pretend that none of this shit is going on, yeah?”

Jane nodded and we headed out of the door arm in arm moving in the direction of the officer’s mess, glad to be off the clock for a few precious hours.