DeathWatch No. 144 – I’m Here For A Favor

This is Issue #144 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Danival wondered, trying to dispel the surprise from his face. He put both his hands atop the desk, laying them out flat, stilling them, stilling himself, an obvious air of shock still clinging to him.

“I’m here for a favor,” Garrett said tentatively.

“Anything in my grasp is yours,” Danival said, without hesitation.

Garrett remained tentative. “I need you to get me out to the front. I’m looking for someone. Two young men who shipped out last year with the scouts. They weren’t of age. With all the ships down — ”

Danival looked stricken, briefly. “We’ve lost eleven scouting ships, two resupplies, and a prototype for high altitude bombing, Alec. The skies are dangerous, and the ground isn’t any better. I’m… I’m not sure it’s the best idea,” he said. “In fact, we’re retreating to regroup. You wouldn’t have any support. You know the Kriegs are pulling out to form their own offensive. It’s going to leave the eastern front a mess.”

“All the same,” Garrett said quietly.

“Alec,” Danival sighed. “You’re–”

Garrett lifted the pistol and set it down on Danival’s desk.

* * *

Panting, Garrett held the gun, and watched The Krieg with wide eyes. He trembled, his finger just out of the way of the trigger, and kept glancing at it, and back up at the man sitting down at the desk. “…what now?” Garrett murmured.

“You tell me,” The Krieg said quietly. “We both know you loved Ryan — whether or not you had any relationship with Fields,” he said. “Will you be able to keep that part of yourself hidden? Secret? Not something you show to anyone — never trusting another man with those feelings, never holding hands, never feeling another man’s embrace, another man’s mouth on your skin. Are you able to deny yourself this?” he asked, staring at Garrett.

Garrett’s shoulders slumped, and his head tipped forward as tears gathered in his lashes. “I want to say yes,” he whispered, “but if I were able to do such a thing, I’d never have been found out in the first place. Everything… everything is ruined.”

“Everything,” the Krieg agreed, nodding. “Completely ruined.”

Garrett nodded, looking crushed. He thumbed the safety off the pistol, and lifted the thing, pressing the muzzle against his temple.

The Krieg’s eyebrows lifted, and he looked at Garrett cautiously, narrowing his eyes. “Corporal,” he said warningly.

* * *

“You… still have it,” Danival said softly, reaching to run his fingers over the smoothly polished wood and brass bolt action.

“Do you remember what you said to me? When you gave it to me?” Alec wondered, watching Danival’s hands with no small ache in his chest.

* * *

“You will always have that option, Corporal Garrett,” The Krieg said. “But if you choose it now, all other options are taken from you. Choices made in desperation are rarely well thought out.”

“I don’t have any other options. Sir,” Garrett said, looking at his superior officer. “You know what I am. The rest of them suspect. I can’t go home like this.”

A shadow passed over the Krieg’s face, and he rose from his desk, coming about to stand in front of Garrett. “If you feel you cannot go home, Alec, perhaps it is time to find a new home.” He reached up to carefully turn the pistol away from Garrett, to push his finger behind the trigger.

“How do I do such a thing?” Garrett wondered. “How… am I supposed to walk away and keep breathing?” he said. “I cannot go home. I cannot stay here. It’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd is the notion of ending your life out of fear,” the Krieg sighed. “There is another choice.”

“You don’t know–” Garrett began.

The Krieg interrupted him by pulling the gun from his hand and setting it aside. He folded Garrett into his arms. The younger man stiffened, holding his breath, terrified. He didn’t relax until the Krieg spoke again, quiet and earnest. “I know,” he whispered. “I do know.”

* * *

“I do,” Danival said, nodding. “As I recall, it was the beginning of a long… friendship, wherein I often had to convince you I knew better than you,” he said, smiling, his eyes shining. “You kept it?”

Garrett rolled his eyes with humor, shaking his head. “Only a Kriegsman would think of a sarcastic suggestion of suicide as the beginning of a friendship,” he said. “And, yes, I kept it. As a reminder I’d always have that option, but it was my last option,” Garrett said, looking down at the gun, reaching to slide his fingers over the brass bits. “I need your help, Dani. And maybe I shouldn’t have asked for it; you don’t owe me anything — in fact, I owe you, I–” His words caught in his throat, briefly. His eyes met Danival’s, and for a moment, he could see something almost afraid there, naked and young and vulnerable with grief. “I never should have–”

“Alec,” Danival sighed, turning his eyes away for the space of a breath, cutting off the apology before Garrett could begin it. “It would still be suicide. Use my gun, or use the guns held by Ilonans. We’re not at a place of any advantage. And considering the missives I’m getting about the Alliance, we won’t have an advantage for a long while; regrouping after these losses will cost us so much time.” He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, and Garrett took the chance to fully comprehend Danival’s expression, tight, exhausted, guarded.

The young soldier who came in handed over a sealed message, looking grave — the markings from it declared it was sent directly from Kriegic Homeland High Command.

The general dismissed the messenger and once the door was shut again, he opened the missive, eyeing Garrett now and again as he pulled the sheets out and scanned them. His face grew grave, pale. He folded the papers back up and looked back at up Garrett for a long while, his pale eyes searching the other man’s face, scanning the new lines, the new scars, learning him in that brief stretch of silence. He crushed the papers in his hands and said simply, “I’ll get you to the front.”

Dizzied by the sudden change of heart, Garrett wondered, “What? What happened?”

“High Command has officially demanded I return,” Danival said quietly. “I’ve got two weeks to transfer my command, then the ships are coming in to recall every Krieg in the forces.”

“I’d seen the news release,” Garrett said, frowning slightly, not understanding the gravity on Danival’s face. “But what else, Dani?”

“It’s the last option for us both.” Danival’s face wore no fear, only concern; there were too many considerations all of a sudden. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath, calming his heart. It made him able to say the words aloud without stumbling. “They want me to lead the invasion from the north, Alec.”

* * *

NEXT

Posted in Deathwatch, Fiction, Serial | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Disastrous

Distress
is
significantly
a
source
that
ruins
our
usual
sanity.

Darkness
in
skies
always
signifies
the
rain
of
unending
sorrow.

Denial
intimates
serious
acknowledgment;
soporific
truth
regularly
obfuscates
us
searching.

Posted in On Depression, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

DeathWatch No. 143 – Can You Lie?

This is Issue #143 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘DeathWatch’ then go to ‘#0 – A Beginning’ and read from there, or go find the issue # you remember, and catch up from there!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

Having left Holden Olivier in a state of piss-soaked distress, Alec Garrett felt lighter than he had in years. With his office and rooms locked up and his various plants left in the care of other professors, he had only a go bag to his name. The gun was packed away in the bag; he hadn’t used one in years, and didn’t really plan on changing that — he’d only pulled it on Holden to make the man shut up for once. Rather than wear his professorial robes, he wore a set of dark fatigues he hadn’t put on in years.

They still fit as they had the last time he’d taken them off.

The drive to the airfield was long and silent; he parked his motorcar and made his way to the fleet of speedships meant solely for short range transportation of small amounts of military goods, bribed a young officer, and stowed away. The further he got from Holden Olivier, the calmer his heart beat — until he watched the descent into Base North, and there was a tightness in his throat that he could not swallow down as his eyes wandered over the familiar structures shrouded in silvergrey mist.

* * *

“Do you know why I asked for you?” the officer asked, sitting across the desk from Garrett.

Garrett was silent for a long time, looking down at his hands, afraid to answer; he’d known eight men who sat in this chair — and never came back. He’d heard the things said about the man across the desk from him, the Krieg who’d been sent to marshall the Alliance Ground Forces into muster. That’s all anyone ever called him. The Krieg.

“I’m speaking to you, Corporal Garrett,” the Krieg said.

It struck Garrett just how gentle that voice was, and he sank lower in his chair, feeling humiliated, not daring to meet the face of the man who spoke. He’d heard many a horrible tale about the Krieg, and what he did to the men charged with improper fraternization. “Certain… ah… assumptions have been made about… personal… inclinations. Sir,” Garrett began.

“You sit in that chair because it is thought that you had inappropriate relationship with another man in your squad,” the Krieg said. “Corporal Fields.”

Garrett clenched his jaw, growling, “I never touched him. Sir.”

* * *

He slipped out of the ship once it docked, and marched directly to the administration buildings; with his thousand metre stare firmly in place and his bag slung over one shoulder, Alec Garrett fit in amidst the other soldiers easily.

Walking down the long hallway, headed for the last place he’d ever imagined he’d be again, he felt that tightness struggling to rise, threatening to cause panic.

* * *

“Give me honesty, Garrett,” the Krieg said, sounding earnest. “You have served under me for how long?”

“Three years, sir,” Garrett said. “I never. Touched him. Sir.” How his cheeks burned. He stared at his hands, feeling tears sting his eyes. Fields had been called into this office — he never even came back to his room for his kit. Fields, who when illicit pornography had been found in his bunk, gave up the names of two others besides Garrett, in hopes his ‘loyalty’ would grant him special dispensation.

The Krieg got up, went and locked the doors of his office, and drew the shades. “I don’t care if you touched Fields. The squad cares, and that makes for poor unit cohesion,” he said. Before he sat down, he took a tobacco pouch from one of the cabinets in his office. He rolled a cigarette, and let those words sink in.

Garrett stared at the Krieg’s hands, and the way his tongue wet his lips before he sealed the cigarette. It was offered, and Garrett took it with a trembling hand. He stared at his commanding officer as the man poured them both a shot of something pale gold from a bottle pulled out of his desk. “Sir,” Garrett said, and then paused to inhale as the Krieg lit the cigarette for him. “I don’t understand.”

* * *

He paused outside the door, his fingertips on the handle, and listened to the voice inside firmly explaining in no uncertain terms why he would retain his clearance regardless of the Kriegic nation pulling out of the Alliance. He swallowed against the tightness in his chest, in his throat. The scent of that tobacco clung to this end of the hall; no doubt, the man behind the desk was having a cigarette right then.

* * *

“Can you convince your fellow enlisted that you weren’t involved with Fields?” the Krieg asked.

“Can I what?” Garrett’s head swam; all he could see was the bluegrey smoke wreathing everything — the taste of it hot and sweet.

“Can you lie?” the Krieg murmured. “Can you lie well enough that no one will ever report on you again?” The next thing the Krieg pulled from his desk was a pistol, cleaned and gleaming, all longbarreled and brass. He set it on the desk carefully, pointing at neither himself, nor Garrett. “Pick it up,” he said, looking at Garrett. “Pick it up, Corporal.”

Used to following orders, Garrett picked it up, sussing the weight and balance. He thumbed the safety off and on again, then looked back up at the Krieg, wondering what would come next.

* * *

Garrett pulled the pistol from his bag and ran his thumb over the safety, thumbing it off, and on again, feeling the weight and balance of it in his hand. He closed his eyes and left one hand curled around the pistol, the other on the handle of the door. He stood there for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, however, he realized the telecom conversation had ended, and on the other side of the door, there was silence. He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” called the familiar voice, and Garrett complied.

When he walked in, the assault on his memory was complete — the place looked nearly as he’d left it, full of papers, books on tactics, dissections of ancient battles, essays on the proper training and care of ground troops. The scent of polished leather and expensive leaf was mingled with gun oil and the faintest tang of ship fuel. The man behind the desk was nearly as he’d been left as well; his eyes were an iceblue, cold and bright, while the gold of his hair and beard had grown shot with silvergrey — enough to distinguish him, but the man Squad 414 had called The Krieg, now a general, still looked younger than Garrett thought he had any right to. Garrett couldn’t help but smile as he entered, and shut the door behind himself.

When he looked up, the Krieg’s expression shifted from bureaucratic frustration to sheer surprise. “…Alec?”

Garrett nodded, grateful his voice didn’t tremble as he answered, “Hello, Danival.”

* * *

NEXT

Posted in Deathwatch, Fiction, Serial | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on DeathWatch No. 143 – Can You Lie?

100 words – Motherland

Even on the brightest days,
bellyfull and eyeshine —
Even with the sweetest touch,
ardor and promise —
Even when the memory of friends
is weighty with assurance,
with kindness,
with connection,
with an establishment of joy that for the world is enough —
Even when taste should be honeygold —
Even when surrounded by love —
that black dog’s breath
is warm in my ear,
reminding me of home,
paying for my aching spine
and trembling hands
in the currency of the Motherland
whispering in my native tongue,
“Never, ever forget,
you whore of Babylon,
your time is forever not simply borrowed,
but stolen.”

Posted in On Depression, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

100 Words – Discover

I am questioning all of the things
in which I promised I believed.
I don’t like the things
I said I liked
don’t want the things
I said I wanted
won’t do the things
I said I would,
I’m not the man you think I am
I’m not the man I thought I was.
I don’t know the color of my skin,
the color of my eyes,
the color of my blood.
I am bound, now, to cut in, and discover.
When I am emptied out;
I will show you what were my insides
Maybe then, we will both understand.

Posted in Fiction, Love Poems, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment