The Scales of Splendor-Chapter 7: Time has Come

Leaky pipes and faulty electricity plagued the Hest residence. It sprawled like a plantation mansion. It served as the spiritual and material headquarters for the Hest Family. They did not have birthday parties. They mostly drank, though. Hard liquor became their beverage of choice. The crackle of gunfire and the burst of bombs slightly shook their home and their consciousness.

Flinden looked at his wife and at the assembled fighters dying only on behalf of the Hest name. He grabbed her hand in his.

“My darling. We must protect this estate and bring on as many soldiers as possible. There is word that they have been deserting from the ranks. We must not stand for this! It is time for us to ascertain the manpower we have and then allow it to grow. We can offer them loan forgiveness, college tuition, and increased pay. We must do something to make all of this go our way,” Flinden flicked his fingers and swore.

“Dear,” Demmings said lightly. “Would you please pass me the bottle of corn liquor?”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?!”

“Of course I did, Flinden, that’s why I want the booze.”

They shared an acidic chuckle. “Mind if I don’t top myself off first?”

“There you go thinking of yourself. Mr. Me First is who I married,” Demmings grinned. They poured their drinks and returned to the discussion.

“No, I hear you clearly,” Demmings declared. “We’re outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. We should just get out. But we can’t. We have to have those soldiers sacrifice everything for our name. They must fight for the cause of our own history,” she said.

“Isn’t that selfish?” Flinden asked.

“Of course it is. We are the ones who know that true selfishness requires limbs being torn and lives being lost.”

“I’d hate to see the families of the soldiers not understanding why their son or daughter died,” Hest replied.

“These soldiers know what they’re getting themselves into from the start. Their own happiness is secondary to the cause. Their very lives don’t matter.” Demmings stood up and then faced her husband.

“I hope you’re going to follow me while I go into battle. We can be sacrificed too, you know?”

The pair found their way from the broken down mansion to the broken down bunker. They studied reports about the drop in soldiers and the atrocities they were subjecting their own people to in the field. The digital forms felt like scrolls from some ancient military library. In each of the cases, the soldier’s face, name, rank, and serial number appeared on the floating sheets. It displayed, albeit intermittently due to the low frequency the Hests maintained, the ones who had been killed or maimed. The deserters were actually praised by the couple. Demmings marked the names of the ones who fled and designated them for medals.

The nighttime felt awkward to the Hests. They liked the battles in the daytime. They wanted to see the soil soak up the blood spilt from those protecting them.

“This bunker and that mansion are all we have,” Hest observed. He was right. All of the vehicles had to go to the war effort and they enjoyed the altruism involved in such a case.

“Yes, well, we can at least use these beat up night vision goggles to view the field.”

“I think that will work,” Hest replied.

*****

In her blue and gold regalia, Leola stomped past guards who snapped to attention. She entered the triage unit and found Captain Triakka busy sewing up a patient. She stood at the door. After a few moments, the blood from the dragon scales revived the young warrior and her wounds quickly healed. She stayed in the hospital for observation. Triakka looked at the fighter and then at the door. Now he froze. He shook his head and mentioned something to the other officers. Then he came to the door.

“I see I can’t go anywhere without you being foot to foot with me,” Triakka said softly.

“I’m ready to fight. And not just strategize. I want to get on the guns and the rocket launchers. I want to win this goddamn war for good.”

“Well, you just might get your chance.”

Leola brightened.

“They’re repositioning the targets and claiming more Hest land. If you are able to fend off the tedium and boredom of combat and then the rush of a firefight, then you could just be able to withstand the buffets and blows of combat. But it won’t be like you riding Aranand. Your parents have momentarily withdrawn all dragons from battle to preserve them and only use them for treating the wounded.”

“I see,” she said. “I can do that. I have the military knowledge and the understanding of how to use the weaponry. If you continue to patch people up, I’m going to start fighting to help lessen the amount of casualties on our side,” Leola mentioned.

“It is so,” Triakka said with a smirk. “As for now, you can go wearing that or we can suit you up in some cammies complete with your name printed on the collar. You’ll be an honorary second lieutenant. I will not be able to associate with you on any friendly or romantic level. We will honor strict codes of military conduct. Is that under—”

Leola leapt up and kissed Triakka on the mouth. He began pecking at her neck and her head. No one was around to see any of this as they had found a quiet nook to speak.

“That’s what we can’t do while you’re fighting and I’m in the OR. I hope we can coexist on a particularly professional level,” he replied after catching his breath.

“Yes we will. I’ve got it all mapped out in my mind. We’ll be the paragons of militaristic discipline. I won’t have to wear this and the cammies will be my way of being an officer in my parents’ order of warriors.”

“That’s right. I’ll draw up orders and send to your digital card your data. I’ll also order to have your size and invisibility cloak available,” Triakka responded. “Are you prepared to recite the oath?”

“Yes.” She raised her left hand.

“I swear to uphold the Costerly Way and to be as selfish as I know how.”

Triakka smiled and kissed Leola’s hand. “Welcome to the fight…officially,” he said. “What are you going to do first?”

“Visit the wounded.”

Most of the injured had been healed by the scales. The serious wounds, anyway. For those who had suffered non-life threatening scars, they resided in the metaverse. They played virtual ping pong and studied more notes on effective strategies of combat. Leola walked up to each of them with a smile and a hand out to them. She witnessed the scales heal burns, blindness, deftness, damaged flesh, and torn limbs. They even restored psychological health to the afflicted.

Leola carried herself like a magnate, lending her smile to those who fought for their own lives. With the amount of people who had been under Triakka’s supervision, Leola continued to go to each person. Those hospitalized anticipated her appearance. Everyone seemed in high spirits and the morale rose many notches with her presence. That was until she met with one warrior in a wheelchair.

“Miss Prissy thinks she can fight,” Private Waller yelped. The wounded fighter cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted. “Hey! We have royalty on deck! We might as well bow and scrape for the great Madam Costerly. We should all stand at attention but look, the scales haven’t healed my missing legs yet. So I guess I’ll just wait for it. In the meantime, I’ll have to take my time, perhaps. Greetings, your highness, it’s so nice to meet you,” he held out an insincere hand.

Leola showed her digital card which read her current rank. Private Walling’s face broke up like a shattered dish. He sat rigid at the position of attention in his wheelchair with a thousand yard stare.

“Now, you can talk all you want about me, but you’re not going to disrespect your fellow warriors. My own esteem is such that you could never crack it. Your insolence will not be reported. You won’t have to face military justice. You may not find the speediness of your wellness to be optimal. I hope your wounds heal fully and you will, however, respect an officer in the Costerly Clan. Am I making sense?”

“Yes, yes, ma’am,” Private Wallings responded.

“Great.” She smiled broadly and wished him well. Leola allowed him to roll back into his space. She continued. As she met with the other warriors, they felt a jolt of respect that they did not have even moments ago.

When she had met each and every wounded warrior, she felt that she had understood something. It was deep and shining in her soul. She reaped selfish benefits from the encounters. All of their interactions spoke to her spirit and made her more aware of her new found official title within the ranks.

The power she had led her to greet others, some missing hands and arms. Some used intravenous drugs to aid their mental health. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed the blue fluid enter the hurt bodies and minds. It snaked its way through the tubes and into the veins. Memories of her own traumatic incident on the battlefield flashed on her consciousness. A surge of comprehension flew through her own being. Leola remembered Aranand once again. His cry rested in her mind.

She snapped out of the phantasm. No other fighters had any sideways comments or innuendo. She walked with a certainty that lifted her up from her brief instance of melancholy. The broad smile returned to her face. The continuation of her trail of bravery led her to encourage and embolden the esprit de corps. By the time she had met them all, she had time to be fitted for her uniforms.

“They’re perfect,” She looked at the green and sand camouflage. Then the green service and the blue dress uniforms. The invisibility cloak seemed a bit too snug, though.

“I’ll keep the cammies and service and dress uniforms but the cloak needs work,” Leola admitted. The tailor went back with a new one. It fit perfectly.

Captain Triakka stepped past the room and Leola walked up to him.

“Sir, I’m all fitted.” She snapped to attention. Triakka inspected her. He placed his eyes over her. He wanted to find an Irish pennant or stray piece of fabric hanging from the uniform. His sharp eye and acuity allowed him to look objectively.

“I see, lieutenant. You’re squared away. Let’s keep it that way. Time has come for you to be a real warrior.”

“Yes, sir.”

*****

Demmings Hest clipped her nails in the bunker as more soldiers died. She then painted them and blew on them as limbs and minds shredded to pieces on the battlefield. Hest played solitaire.

“Who did we say is leading all of this?” she asked.

“Melva. She’s fighting for a chance to keep as many people on the field. We have more people than them. We might not have the equipment but we certainly have the personnel. She should send in more people. It’s the right thing to do,” he answered.

Demmings continued with a face that looked like a crag. She then filed her finger tips. The shavings fell like little pieces of snow.

“You know I always thought that the general was a bit batty. She seems unprepared to lead. What do you think?”

At first Hest shrugged. “Hard to tell. She’s been in the service for thirty-two years. She might need to be brought out to pasture. We’ve literally been hemorrhaging ever since this war began.”

“I know that,” she said starkly. “It’s possible that we can fulfill this obligation to our troops by installing a new officer regime.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Major General Covey Horschild. He’s been the second in command this whole time. Most of his work has been administrative but I’m sure he’ll be able to report to the field.”

Demmings still looked hard in the face. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I want to know but I don’t have a clue what to do anymore. It’s not my fault though. I can power through this like we always had,” Demmings replied.