A War From Which There Is No Discharge

December 796 U.C., Heinessen

It was rare that Julian and Yang went out to eat— usually Julian cooked— but on the way home from the airport where they had sent off Cazerne, Yang pulled into a sandwich place without consulting Julian. They ordered at the counter then found seats in the far back, away from any of the other customers. The sun had already gone down outside the streaky windows at the front of the restaurant, and the bright light inside the joint felt both comforting and alien. Both Yang and Julian were in strange moods: circling the same thing, if from opposite sides. Neither of them spoke for a while as they ate.

“Are you really going to take the Iserlohn Fortress Commander position, sir?” Julian asked finally.

“If they’ll still let me have it,” Yang said. “Could be that as soon as I say I want it, someone else will change their mind and take it away.”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

“Probably not.” He stirred the puddle of ketchup in the little plastic basket his meal had come in with one of his french fries. “It looks too natural to let me command Iserlohn. It’s still the one thing they can point to as a victory— well, whatever. Why do you ask, Julian?”

There wasn’t any way for Julian to put it other than bluntly. “May I come with you, sir?”

“Oh. Yes, of course, I figured you would. I’m sure Cazerne will bring his family, too. The Imperials had a whole city inside there, so it’s pretty well set up for civilians…” He trailed off and scratched his head. “I think there will be fewer with us, since we can’t say that Iserlohn is impregnable anymore, but the permanent staff will want to bring their families.” He looked up at Julian with a wry smile, though there was some sadness lingering in his eyes. “I can’t really pretend it’s safe, but I can’t pretend like I would prefer to leave you on Heinessen, either.”

Julian nodded and silently looked down at his food. He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“Is something wrong?” Yang asked.

“Do I have to be a civilian, sir?”

Yang let out a sigh and looked out the window. “How old are you now?”

“I’ll be fifteen in March.”

Yang’s mouth twitched in a stifled smile. “That’s almost half a year away.”

“Four months.”

“Even at fifteen—” Yang frowned. “I know every war is a children’s crusade, but fifteen… There’s a reason why enlistment isn’t until sixteen, and even that is too young.”

“Cadets who have gone to military academies can join earlier,” Julian pointed out. “Even at fourteen.”

“Doing menial tasks away from the front lines,” Yang said. “Iserlohn—”

“What would be the difference, sir?”

Yang looked at him for a long time. Julian sat up under the scrutiny, wondering what Yang was thinking.

“I won’t stop you, if your heart is set on it,” Yang said finally. “I’m not your father.” 

It was a statement of fact, of course, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like Julian had disappointed Yang in some fundamental way. “But you don’t want me to.”

“Even if I was your father— certainly mine would have preferred that I studied business. But he gave me permission to study history anyway. It would be pretty hypocritical of me to stop you.” Yang smiled at him, though it wasn’t a happy expression.

“Why don’t you want me to be a soldier, sir?”

“I don’t want anyone to be a soldier,” Yang said. When Julian stared at him, Yang sighed and offered more information. “For one thing, it is my duty as your guardian to protect you and keep you safe.”

“Aside from that, sir.”

“Aside from that?” Yang looked away, out the window. Snowflakes had begun to fall, drifting down beneath the streetlights, though they vanished as soon as they hit the ground. “There’s nothing much outside that, I suppose.” He leaned back in his seat. “I told Captain Schenkopp that I captured Iserlohn so that you could live in a world where you didn’t need to be a soldier. I knew I was making a liar out of myself, but I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

“It’s not your fault, sir.”

Yang was silent for a moment. “I don’t really understand what you hope to get out of it.”

“I want to help you.” He knew that saying this would hurt the admiral, but it was true, so he said it anyway.

“Help me do what?” Yang asked, half bitterly. Then he shook himself and modulated his voice to something calmer when he said, “No, nevermind, don’t answer that.” He rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, Julian— being a soldier—” He let out a weird, uncharacteristic laugh. “We all keep pretending that we’re waging a war that will put an end to all wars. War for the sake of peace. It’s the only reason to be a soldier, but it’s self-deception. At least I keep pretending that, deceiving myself, if it helps me get to sleep at night.”

Julian didn’t think it was working, since he had seen the way the admiral didn’t go to bed until two or three in the morning, after coming home from the charge into Imperial territory. And when Julian came to wake him up, he would find the blankets half throttling Yang in his sleep, like he had spent the entire night trashing and wrestling with them, a battle which he had lost.

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

“Well, maybe you have a different reason. Maybe everybody does. I hope your reasons are more achievable than mine.” But he said this in a tone of such resignation that it was clear he thought this was impossible. 

---

January 797 U.C., Iserlohn Fortress

Iserlohn Fortress was strange, far stranger than the ship that had brought Julian there. He had never been in space before, so had found the experience novel during the journey, but that aspect had worn off quickly. He was very good at getting used to new things, including the uniform that he now wore.  He didn’t mind the sense of being perpetually indoors— he wasn’t claustrophobic— and the humming of the air filters and great machinery under his feet soon faded into the background.

What remained strange about Iserlohn, once the sheen of being in space had worn off, was its magnitude. On a ship, even one as large as Yang’s flagship, he could walk from stem to stern in less than ten minutes. On Iserlohn, Julian could pick a hallway and travel down it endlessly. The scenery never changed— always that strangely decorative Imperial styling over plain grey metal walls— and it gave the sense of walking the wrong direction on one of the moving floors, never going forward no matter how long and hard he ran. Even on the high speed shuttles that could go from one side of the fortress to the other, the journey would still take over half an hour. It would be impossible to walk the endless, circular miles inside of Iserlohn on foot, but that didn’t stop Julian from wandering.

He felt it was incumbent on him to understand the place. If it was going to be home for some time, and, aside from home, his duty station, he should know his way around. As Yang’s orderly, Julian could go anywhere that Yang could— which was anywhere— and if he abused this privilege, no one complained to Yang about it. 

Julian found plenty of places to go, and he never got too lost in his wandering. It was easy to know where he was headed. Even if the fortress felt labyrinthine in its seemingly infinite number of identical corridors, things were laid out according to general sense, and every intersection was labeled. The labels were in the Imperial language, but often those had been scribbled out with permanent marker and replaced with handwritten Alliance text pointing the way.

Unless Yang was there, Julian stayed away from Iserlohn’s command center. But he made himself familiar with the huge industrial kitchens, where he smiled charmingly at the soldiers manning them and got the admiral’s lunch and tea. 

He visited the manufacturing center down near Iserlohn’s south pole, where spare parts for every system in the fortress, and for ships that came into her port, could be custom made in emergencies. The fortress’ new inhabitants struggled with identifying and implementing fixes— parts that were standard in the Empire were suddenly no longer available— so these workshops were hives of activity no matter what time of day Julian found himself in them. 

Unlike most other people, Julian liked Iserlohn’s miles and miles of farms better than he liked the pleasure gardens at the center of the fortress. The farms were quiet, and usually empty save for the machines that tended the soldierly rows of corn. In a way, the artificiality of the greenhouses felt natural— it didn’t disguise itself like the pleasure gardens did. The gardens were there to make everyone forget their sense of purpose, but Julian liked the way the farms knew exactly what they were for. In the event that Iserlohn came under siege from all sides, the farms would protect them as much as the Thor Hammer could. He ran his hands over the soft green unfurling leaves of the soybeans as he walked through the rows.

Everywhere that he could go, he went. One day, about a week into his stay on Iserlohn, he found himself curious about some of the training gyms. He had heard soldiers complaining that the Rosenritter regiment, since they were the fortress garrison, had claimed the best training areas as their own. Julian had been to one of the public gyms, and it seemed perfectly fine to him, so he was curious as to how much better the Rosenritters’ could be. Maybe it had been one intended for Imperial officers before the Alliance had captured the place.

So Julian, once he was off his official duty and not missed, took the shuttle to the part of Iserlohn where the Rosenritters were quartered, and looked around. It was about the time for dinner for those on first shift, so the hallways were quite empty. The only thing that seemed different about this area of Iserlohn was that the signs in the hallway retained their Imperial labels, though a few bore crudely drawn graffiti as well. The Rosenritter were all ex-Imperial, so it was funny to think of the fortress herself as one of their number— a defector of her own, in a way.

Julian’s passcard opened the door to the gym, just as he had grown used to it opening every other, and he stepped inside. It smelled of sweat in a way that the air filters couldn’t quite clean out, and the lights were too bright overhead. He had entered into a basketball court, though he was sure that it was used for about a hundred different things. It was roomy, and his footsteps squeaked on the freshly waxed floor as he walked across it. Through another door was the weight room, the equipment all silent and empty. It didn’t look any different than the other gym Julian had visited. If it was in better repair and more well organized, perhaps the Rosenritters simply took better care of their equipment. 

He could smell a whiff of chlorine in the air, so he decided to go find the pool that he knew must be around, but when he turned back to the door, he found a man leaning in the doorway, watching him and blocking his exit. The man had approached so silently that Julian hadn’t registered his presence at all, and he was alarmed to have been snuck up on. The man was very tall and had curly dark hair. He wasn’t wearing a uniform jacket, though he must be a Rosenritter.

“Does Admiral Yang know you’re creeping around down here?” the man asked, putting Julian immediately on his back foot. The man clearly knew who he was— the asymmetry of information made Julian uncomfortable.

“I have permission,” Julian said.

The man smiled. “Not what I asked.”

“He doesn’t know. But I don’t think he’d mind.”

“No?” The man straightened from his lean and took a couple steps towards Julian, who stiffened. “Since the admiral didn’t see fit to introduce us, it seems like he might prefer that we keep separate company.”

“You’ll have to introduce yourself, then, sir,” Julian said.

The man gave a jaunty salute. “Captain Schenkopp, of the Rosenritter.”

Julian saluted back crisply.

“And you’re the admiral’s ward, though I’m afraid he never mentioned your name.”

“Minci. Julian Minci, sir.”

“So, Minci, what makes you come to pay the Rosenritter a visit?”

“I’m just looking around. Someone told me you had a nice gym.”

“And do we?” Schenkopp’s smile was crooked.

Julian wasn’t sure how to answer that. “It’s very clean, sir.”

“The admiral let us have the pick of the litter, so to speak, as thanks for services rendered. It’s good for my men to think that we’re getting favored treatment for once. Don’t tell them that there isn’t much of a difference.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

“But that couldn’t really be the reason you’re down here.”

“I’m getting acquainted with the fortress, sir.”

“Of course.” Schenkopp smirked.

There was a moment of silence. Julian had half-expected Schenkopp to say something else, but the man just looked him over. Julian asked the question that Schenkopp clearly wanted him to ask. “Why wouldn’t Admiral Yang want me to talk to you, sir? He trusted you a lot, when he gave the Rosenritter the chance to capture Iserlohn.”

“Oh, the reasons he trusts me to do my duty are the same reasons he’d hate for me to speak with you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

“I’m a soldier by nature,” Schenkopp said. His smile showed teeth. “And the admiral wants you to live a peaceful life. I’d be a bad influence for you, and he knows that.”

Julian straightened his back. “I am a soldier, sir.”

“The admiral’s trying to save your soul, boy.”

Julian flushed at the address, all the way to the tips of his ears. Still, he said, “He needs me to protect him, not the other way around.” 

Julian thought about the moment in the hotel room in Thernussen, where he knew that if things had gone even slightly differently, he would have killed for Yang. He hadn’t even thought to hesitate. His conviction lent gravity to his words, though they still made Schenkopp laugh. For all that he had been teasing Julian— or whatever was happening here— this was a friendly sound. 

“He needs somebody to take care of him, I don’t doubt it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Might as well be you. He certainly wouldn’t let it be me.”

“Are you a bad influence on him, too, sir?”

“Hah.” Schenkopp barked out a laugh again, but this was less friendly and amused, and he didn’t answer the question. “And how do you plan to protect the admiral?”

“Whatever way he needs me to,” Julian said.

“Can you shoot?”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

“He didn’t teach you how, I assume.”

“No, sir. But boys had drill, at the school I used to go to. We’d go to the firing range once a month.”

“Were you any good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to make you prove that, Minci.”

“Happy to demonstrate, sir.”

Schenkopp laughed again. “Don’t be too eager.” He looked Julian up and down one more time, then turned away. “Come back tomorrow, early, oh-six-hundred. I would like to see what the admiral’s little ward is made of.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said, but Schenkopp just waved once over his shoulder and headed out the door. When he opened it, Julian could hear voices of other soldiers, some of them chatting in the Imperial language— the Rosenritter returning from dinner— and Julian felt he had lost his permission to be in the gym, so quickly made his own exit.

---

Although Schenkopp hadn’t told Julian not to mention their meeting to Yang, Julian kept quiet about it in the evening when he ate his own dinner with Yang, and then sat with him in the living room of their quarters. If Julian was uncharacteristically quiet, Yang didn’t seem to notice, absorbed in his book as he was. Julian went to bed before the admiral, though if he had infinite energy, he would have stayed up just to keep him company. The few occasions that Julian, a light sleeper, woke up in the night, he always saw the glow under his doorway that signaled that Yang was still awake.

The next morning, very early, when Julian snuck out of their shared quarters, he found Yang still on the couch, sound asleep, with the book that had fallen from his fingers splayed open on the floor, wrinkling the pages. Julian picked it up and smoothed it out, and put it on the coffee table in front of Yang. Looking at Yang, Julian was very grateful that even if Yang had difficulty falling asleep, he had no trouble at all staying asleep. He would probably be back from his meeting with Schenkopp before Yang even woke up.

In the perpetual daylight of the fortress, Julian felt wide awake as soon as he began his journey towards the Rosenritters’ headquarters. His heart fluttered with an unfamiliar anxiety, or anticipation— the line was unclear. He jogged, rather than walked, and when he took the shuttle from one side of the fortress to the other, he stood, despite the abundance of empty seats. None of the other yawning passengers spared him a second glance.

The situation was different at the Rosenritter gym, however. Although Julian’s passcard let him in exactly as it had before, the gym was completely full of people— loud music was playing from somebody’s speakers in the corner, but the clanging of weights being lifted and set down cut across it. The men working out all seemed in high spirits, and occupied with their own business. Julian tried to make his way through the gym, but the men weren’t so occupied that they didn’t notice him, an intruder.

One of the Rosenritters sat up from his weight bench and swatted at Julian with the towel that had been draped across his neck. Julian jumped out of the way. “Didn’t know the regiment was recruiting infants these days,” he joked.

“I’m looking for Captain Schenkopp, sir,” Julian said. 

“But is the captain looking for you?”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said. “It’s about Admiral Yang.”

“Oh, is it? And what does Admiral Yang want with us?” the man asked. He didn’t seem overly malicious, but he was now preventing Julian from heading deeper into the gym, and had attracted the attention of several of the other soldiers, who leaned on their equipment and looked at Julian with curiosity or amusement.

“It’s not about the admiral, I’m afraid,” came Schenkopp’s voice, as he parted the little assembly of Rosenritters. He didn’t seem to mind shoving them out of the way with his hand on their shoulders, nor did they seem to mind being shoved. With the appearance of Schenkopp, several of them laughed and went back to their own workouts.

“Too bad,” the man who had stopped Julian said. “I was hoping we’d see some excitement.”

“He wouldn’t send his ward to tell us that the enemy’s at our door, would he?” Schenkopp asked. “You’ll have to continue making your own excitement, Linz.”

“Like interrogating our visiting wanderer?” Linz asked.

“Sure. Some other time.” Schenkopp put his hand on Julian’s shoulder, now, crushing and solid. He steered Julian through the gym, leaving the main area behind. 

When the voices of the other Rosenritters had faded out into the background, and Schenkopp was leading Julian through a narrow corridor in the back of the training complex, Julian said,“I wasn’t lying. I’m here so that I can help the admiral.”

“You were stretching the truth, at best,” Schenkopp said. He didn’t sound particularly annoyed. His voice was almost amused— maybe he was glad that Julian had made it after all.

“I had to get through,” Julian said. 

Schenkopp said nothing and unlocked the door of the shooting range—this one opened with a physical key which he produced from his pocket. Julian’s eyes had just started adjusting to the dim light inside when Schenkopp turned on the overheads, making Julian blink again.

The room was long, stretching out away to the left. In the distance was an open area, where Julian presumed that complicated moving target practice could be performed. Directly in front of them were the individual booths, with their long channels leading down to a still target. Julian glanced at them, then turned back to Schenkopp.

To the right wall were the equipment lockers, which Schenkopp rattled open. Julian was sure that the captain was carrying a sidearm under his jacket, so he wasn’t getting anything for himself. It was the privilege of officers to carry a weapon, and he didn’t seem the type to leave it behind. He procured a gun from the locker, signed it out on the clipboard, and held it out to Julian.

“You know how this works?” Schenkopp asked.

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

Aware that he was being observed and judged, the first thing Julian did after he took it was to inspect the safety and check the status of the energy pack. The safety was on, and the energy pack was completely full. He turned it over once more, just to get a feel for it. The gun was heavy and cold in his hand—the same model as Yang’s sidearm. It was nothing like the old, quarter-power rifles that he had trained with at school, lying in the cool, damp grass and listening to his classmates laugh and shout as he carefully took aim at a hay-stuffed target across the field. He held this new weapon carefully, keeping his finger off the trigger and the muzzle pointed away from everything important.

Schenkopp offered neither praise nor criticism for Julian’s gun safety, and merely waved his hand at the booths. “Take your pick. Let’s see if you can hit something right in front of you.”

“Is there any difference?” he asked, wondering if some of the targets were set further back than others.

Schenkopp didn’t answer the question, and so Julian just walked across the booths, peering down their long corridors as he went. As he passed each one, its overhead light flicked on, illuminating the targets at the other end. He was surprised at what he saw there. Although the targets were standard human shapes— marked with red painted circles in key areas and pitted with blaster scars— on their heads had been taped photographs of Imperial soldiers. They looked like official photos that had been pilfered from Iserlohn’s original décor—serious looking men. Julian recognized the bushy sideburns of (now retired) Fleet Admiral Muckenburger, and the terrifyingly young and blond Fleet Admiral Lohengramm. All the photos were scorched, some half-destroyed. Simply out of curiosity, Julian walked down the entire row. In the last booth, he was startled by the photograph, so much that he took a few steps back.

The last photograph was different from all the others, in that it was not one of the portraits of grim-faced soldiers. This was a still image clipped from a news broadcast, and a child. Kaiser Erwin Josef’s eyes were wide and cornflower blue, and he was dwarfed by the crown he wore and the throne that he sat in. Even in his official coronation photo, if this was what it was, the seven year old looked confused and apprehensive. The photograph was printed large, life size or near enough, and taped to the middle of the target. There was a single, perfect hole directly through the center of Erwin Josef’s forehead.

“Well?” Schenkopp asked. “Are you ready, or are you going to stand there all day?”

Julian couldn’t quite make himself step into the booth. “Why is that there?” he asked.

“What would you prefer instead? A deer?” Schenkopp asked. “You’re a soldier. No point in pretending that your targets aren’t also men.” His lip curled, almost cruelly. “Or children, in your case.”

“You would kill a child?” Julian asked.

“Hasn’t everyone in the Alliance been chanting ‘Death to the Kaiser’ since the day Ale Heinessen made his escape? I would hate to think I serve a country that’s all talk and no action.”

“Admiral Yang wouldn’t order anyone to do that.”

“No? Are you telling me that the admiral, as a student of history, thinks that the Terror was wrongly done?”

“I don’t know. He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

Julian certainly would not be doing that, not unless he could find some way to do so without revealing the reason. The idea of Yang seeing the targets, or even learning of their existence, was too terrible. He could feel the admiral’s shame and disappointment pressing down on his shoulders.

“ You think Admiral Yang would kill a child?” Julian asked.

Schenkopp smiled. “I’d like to know what he would say to that question.”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“He wouldn’t answer me, which is perhaps damning, whichever the true answer is.”

“He wouldn’t do it,” Julian repeated, half conviction and half reassurance.

“Maybe not. But the admiral is a far better soldier than he likes to think of himself as.”

That was true, and it lent unpleasant credence to the rest of Schenkopp’s insinuations. Julian turned back towards the target and lined himself up along the firing range. He hoisted his loaned gun. He didn’t fire, and he glanced over at Schenkopp to see if he wanted him to shoot.

“Keep your eyes in front of you,” Schenkopp snapped. “Look at where you’re pointing that.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian said. He looked down the firing range, holding the gun up before himself, his arms extended. As he squinted forward, locking eyes with the target, he noticed that his hands were trembling in the corner of his vision.

“Have you ever fired a gun like this?” Schenkopp asked.

“No, sir. Just rifles.”

“It’s as easy as pulling the trigger.”

Still, Julian hesitated for a moment more, and when he did squeeze his finger on the trigger, he instinctively closed his eyes as well. The beam weapon was silent, and had no knockback, so it was almost like nothing had happened. He opened his eyes and discovered that his shot had gone wide. There was a little black mark on the paper on the back wall where he had singed it. Despite the fact that it was only a photo, Julian still felt unpleasantly relieved, and let his arms fall to his sides.

“You said you wanted to protect the admiral,” Schenkopp said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

“That will mean doing things that he can’t do, or won’t do.”

Julian looked back at the target and raised his gun again.

“Keep your eyes open this time,” Schenkopp said.

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

He took a deep breath, though it caught somewhere in his throat, and he couldn’t quite get enough air. But he kept his eyes open as he aimed and fired. This time, his shot missed only due to inexperience. He had aimed too high, and the singed mark that remained was on the padded target’s shoulder, missing Erwin Josef’s crowned head by six inches or so.

“Better,” Schenkopp said. He came up behind Julian, who stayed very still. This time, his hands were almost gentle as he guided Julian’s arms, leaning down so that his head was next to Julian’s shoulder. He directed Julian’s hands, and Julian squinted at the gun, suddenly very steady as Schenkopp held him towards the target. Schenkopp’s hands covered his, and Julian almost squeezed the trigger, but instead they just stood there for a moment. 

“See what proper aim looks like,” Schenkopp said.

“Yes, sir,” Julian said.

Schenkopp let him go and stepped back. “Remember what that looks like— you can practice again tomorrow.”

Julian held the gun out towards the target for another moment, his hands steady this time, and then flicked the safety back on and handed the gun back to Schenkopp. 

---

Later that week, around two in the morning, Julian was awakened by the characteristic click of the front door of his and Yang’s quarters opening. Yang was up from the couch and moving around, and Julian at first wondered if he was going for a walk, but then he heard a second pair of footsteps, and Schenkopp’s voice. It was low enough that it wouldn’t have woken a deeper sleeper, but if he focused, Julian could hear it clearly.

“Late for you to be up, isn’t it, Admiral?” Schenkopp asked.

“I could say the same to you.”

“When I stay up late, I don’t spend my next day threatening to nod off while on duty.”

Yang laughed quietly. “Care for a drink?”

“I’d never turn one down.”

There was the clinking of glass as Yang poured them both something.

“Where’s your ward, by the way?” Schenkopp asked.

“Asleep, as all sane people should be.”

“I wasn’t sure if he lived with you or not.”

“Do you think I’d send him off to the enlisted men’s dormitories?”

There was silence interrupted by the creaking of the couch as they sat down. “Did he mention to you that I made his acquaintance?”

“No. But I’m not surprised.”

“You should have introduced us properly.”

“Why? I didn’t realize you had any interest in entertaining children.”

“I’m not the one interested. He came and hunted me down.”

“Ah.”

“If you had simply invited me to dinner, he wouldn’t have been lured in with the feeling of doing something illicit.”

“I don’t mind if he talks to you,” Yang said, though this was not-quite-true, even to Julian’s ears. Yang may have been saying it to make himself believe it. “But what did he want?”

“I’ve been giving him shooting lessons, since he wants to be a soldier.”

“He is a soldier. He doesn’t have to want that anymore.”

Schenkopp laughed. “He’s a boy.”

“Is he any good?” Yang asked, switching the topic.

“Better than I was at his age.”

“And what were you doing at his age?”

“Hm…” There was a moment of silence as Schenkopp thought. “Probably convincing my grandmother to let me go to the big city for the day with my first girlfriend.”

Yang laughed a little. “I’d be happier if he was doing that.”

“I could teach him how to pick up women, too, if you want.”

“I don’t think he’ll want any of your kind of instruction.”

“Pity. He’ll have to make do with yours. But you make a pretty bad example, as far as I can tell.”

“You’re starting to sound like Cazerne.”

“Well, sometimes a stick-in-the-mud can serve as a sundial.” There was another moment of silence, then Schenkopp said, “I’m surprised he didn’t mention any of it to you.”

“I’m surprised you’re here telling me. Do you have a guilty conscience?”

“I’m too straightforward of a man to be burdened with a thing like that,” Schenkopp said. “No, I just thought you might like to hear something that would make you proud of your boy.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Yang’s voice was warm, at least to Julian’s ears, though it seemed that Schenkopp misinterpreted him.

“Why not?” Schenkopp asked. “You think I’m going to tell you what a good soldier he is, which will disappoint you instead?”

“I don’t really understand what you’re trying to do here, Captain Schenkopp.”

“Nothing. I told you, I’m too straightforward of a man to have ulterior motives.”

“No ulterior motives and no guilty conscience,” Yang said.

“A perfect soldier,” Schenkopp replied, though he tipped enough irony into the words that Yang just sighed.

“What did you want to tell me about Julian?”

“He thinks the world of you.”

“I don’t really need you to tell me that.”

Schenkopp laughed. “No, he makes it obvious enough.”

“Yeah,” Yang said with a sigh. “His faith is a little misplaced.”

“Hm,” Schenkopp intoned. “Would you say the same about everyone else?”

“Moreso.”

There was a moment of silence. “You’ll be very happy to hear that he’s not a natural soldier,” Schenkopp said.

“Nobody’s a natural soldier,” Yang said.

“Hasn’t war been a part of the human race since its inception? That’s as natural as it comes.”

The clinking of the glass as someone poured another drink. 

“Julian— is this criticism disguised as praise, or praise disguised as criticism?” Yang asked.

“It’s a fact,” Schenkopp said.

“And what makes him not a natural soldier?”

“He’s too devoted to one person,” Schenkopp said. “Even commanders are supposed to be replaceable, you know. He doesn’t care about the war at all, or any ideology aside from whatever you’ve been feeding him. And he only cares about that because it’s yours.”

“That’s another thing you didn’t need to tell me.”

Schenkopp laughed.

“I wish he wasn’t,” Yang said.

“More or less than you wish he wasn’t a soldier?”

“I don’t know.” There was a moment of silence. “He told you he wants to protect me, didn’t he?”

“Of course.”

“I—”

“Let him,” Schenkopp said. “If you’ll take my advice about it.”

“It’s not his responsibility. It shouldn’t be.”

“And whose responsibility should it be to stop a bullet for you?”

“Walter—”

“Certainly,” Schenkopp said. Even from his bedroom, Julian could hear the smirk in Schenkopp’s voice. “With pleasure.”

“I don’t want— and not him.” Yang seemed to be restraining himself, keeping his voice low for Julian’s sake.

There was another moment of silence. 

“Letting him try to protect me— it’s like sentencing him to death. Or a lifetime of something impossible.” What Yang was saying didn’t make much sense— perhaps it barely did to him, either. “The way for him to succeed— and I wouldn’t ever want him to feel like he failed. It’s not his responsibility. It shouldn’t be.”

“And not letting him would be worse,” Schenkopp said. “You know that. That’s why you let him put on that uniform in the first place.”

“And why does it matter to you?” Yang asked.

The couch creaked. “I’m not a natural soldier, either.”

“But you are a perfect one,” Yang said, very resigned. “Goodnight, Captain Schenkopp.”

Julian could picture Schenkopp’s jaunty salute. “Goodnight, Admiral.”