Passage from Chapter 1 - The King

Coins scraping the table. Fast fingers sorting small from large. 1 piece left, 25 piece right, rest middle. Counting. 1 to 10 then again to 100. Wrapped and stacked. Stored and locked. The caravan is leaving in days. Focused doing the work of counting a river of wealth birthed from focused work to create the river of wealth. One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten – two smacks on the wooden table to compress the bundle. Stack ready, Next. It continues throughout the night. 400lbs of coin ready for the caravan. The beasts of burden are brushed, washed, fed and blanketed. A late winter chill keeps the fire burning days after the first tulip sprouts.

Father returns with his voice in his head, speaking “I don't recall inviting you…” not sure who he's speaking to. The presence quips back “I have not been invited.” Interrupted, The fathers hand stops, holding the key in the locked door, for a moment… pins crick, and the tumbler yields. Door hinges do their work straining at the shear force. A small amount of heat emits as matter fights for position on the hinge. No one notices and the door closes. The fire lamp is hung bringing more to more.

Passage from Chapter 7 – Frontline

2244 hours. Barrage has ended. Troops are moving like blood in veins. Resupplying. Tomorrow will be the same. Vassell under the hum of a tin lamp. Gazing at the stars. Smoke rising from an ashen stick. “What a glory. Awe of reality. I could be up there… But what of Thomas?” Something stirs in his heart and mind. Like an eel in an egg. Vassell feels uncomfortable with the churning. Shakes his head to shake off the sensation. He runs his hands over his eyes. Exhaustion. A sapper sapped.

The soft crunching underfoot. One. No - two bodies. Vassell prepares himself. Composed he stands. Dead eyes forward. The smell reaching him before the figure.

“Commander Vassell…”

Vassell's breath stands at attention. Death envelops him.

“General.”

General Gorsick enters his frame. A delighted sneer is offered. “Co-Man-Der - Vassell.” A deep exhale and gurgling grumble from depths unknown. He gazes at the heavens then at Vassell's patch of the black wing. “You know. My men have much to think about… When they have time. And since you seem to have all the time in the world, I think we must edit your arrangement.”