The Palisades

September 17, XX57
We have done it.
The Palisades have fallen at last.
The cheer that rises from the troops is ragged, giving a voice to the hardships we have endured to bring this revolution to an end. As the echoes die away, we find ourselves thinking of those who have lost their lives in this struggle for freedom.
Sergeant Breister, who fell in the second charge, bravely fighting on with several bullets in him until a cannon blew a hole in his abdomen.
Corporal Manning, who was the last surviving soldier in the fight for Fort Goldsworth, hung for his deeds when the fort fell to the enemy.
Second Lieutenant O’Shae, who gave her life to make sure her squad escaped when the attack on Granger’s Hill turned into a trap.
Privates Nie and Connors, who braved enemy fire to bring us news of the enemy’s movements, breathing their last as they did so.
And all the countless others, some I knew and many I didn’t. All of them had given their lives to protect their beliefs and now we could say that their deaths had not been in vain. For we have accomplished what we started out to do thirteen long years ago; that is, capture the Palisades and the Council within to begin a new era of freedom, not a life of slavery, subsisting on whatever the Council saw fit to give us.
As I sit here, watching as the soldiers begin the process of recovering from the ordeals they have gone through, I can’t help but smile slightly as I see the faces that have become familiar to me, a new hope shining in their eyes and a new vigor in their step. There is a new life for them to pursue, one that they helped bring about. It gives them pride to know this and it shows in their actions and words.
Perhaps, now that the war is over, I can finally settle down and live a peaceful life. It won’t be for a while, I know; there is still the clean-up to do and the country is in chaos, but it is no longer just a dream that I escape to when the fighting gets too overwhelming.
I suppose this entry will be the last in this journal. Since the war began, I have filled nearly three scores of notebooks with my impressions on what has happened. All of them are packed into boxes that now sit on the ground at my feet. Will anyone read these books, realize the effort that was put into this revolution? After all, I have been one of the key figures in this revolution, a person that the Council would have loved to have gotten their mitts on.
I can tell you my real name now, since the war is over and I have nothing to fear from someone accidentally discovering these books. Before, I signed my entries with the name Private Samuel Lister, who is who I have been posing as for the last thirteen years, but my true name and rank couldn’t be further from the truth.
My true rank and name is Commander in Chief Reynold James Black.

“Hey, Lister!”
The middle-aged man sitting on  wooden box with a small black bound book open in his lap lifted his pen from the page, gave it one more cursory glance, then turned his attention to the caller, closing the book as he did so. “What do you want, Cook?” He called back, smiling at his old comrade. They were both privates, had been since the beginning and over the years they had forged a strong friendship.
The darkly tanned man indicated the several boxes that were grouped around the other private. “Are you going to sit with your books all day or help us with the rubble over there?” He asked with a grin. Lister grinned back.
“Naw. I just finished with this one. Let me put it away, then I’ll come help.” Satisfied with the answer he’d received, Emil Cook nodded and turned away, heading back to where one of the other privates was struggling to lift a particularly large beam of wood.
“Good. When you do, go help Mathers. The Colonel sent him to pick up the pieces of that statue out front and he’s having some trouble with the larger pieces.” He waited for an indication that Lister had heard, then continued on his way.
Lister watched him go. Sighing, he slipped the small black book into one of the nearby boxes, replaced the cap on the pen and slipped it into his pocket, then got up, stretching. He’d been sitting on the box for nearly an hour and the muscles in his legs had gotten used to the position and protested being made to move. Finished with that, he turned to find Private Mathers, finally locating him over to his right, carrying a piece of limestone to a pile of the soft rock that had been established a little ways away.
With a private smile curving his lips, Lister strode off to assist with carrying the pieces of statue. It amused him to think of the men’s reactions if they knew who he truly was instead of who they had seen him as. After all, you don’t usually order the Commander in Chief to help pick up rubble.

Later, in the room he had been assigned in one of the many buildings the army had requisitioned, Lister sorted through the boxes, searching for the very first of the little black books. Finding it, he lit the candle on the table and sat down, opening the book to the first page. “July 12,” he read. “Today we declared war on the Council…”

Commander in Chief Reynold James Black signed his full name at the bottom of the declaration of war. He was the last of the small group to sign and he blew on the ink to dry it before folding the paper and sliding it carefully into the envelope already prepared for it. Handing it off to a waiting private, who scurried out the door with his weighty burden, he watched it leave, an appropriately somber look on his face. With a sigh, the most influential man in the armed forces of Lithuné turned back to his colleagues with clear blue eyes the shade of a sunny summer day.
“Well, gentlemen, that’s it. There’s no going back now.” He gave a small smile that shifted the neatly groomed thin mustache he wore. “I do hope that none of you are having second thoughts about this revolution.”
One of the others, a balding man of about forty wearing the stripes of a five-star general, coughed to clear his throat before speaking with a voice hoarse from yelling orders about the clamor of battle. “If we were having second thoughts, Commander, we would not have signed the declaration.” He paused a moment to polish his monocle. “However—and I’m sure I speak for everyone here in this matter—as long as you are sure of what we are doing, we will follow you where ever your decisions lead.”
They all nodded and murmured agreement. A younger man, a Lieutenant General close to promotion, added his thoughts. “Aye, sir. You’ve never led us wrong in battle—or anywhere else—before. To doubt you now would be an insult not only to you but to the troops who follow you so willingly. We cannot betray that trust so easily.”
Black smiled gently at them. “Thank you, General Hart and Lieutenant General Barrens. Your support means a lot to me at this time in our country’s history.” Turning to the remaining four officers, he directed his next question to the Fleet Admiral who sat to his left. “Fleet Admiral Westing, I believe I heard word that the Second Armada is ready to pull out of Port Senya?”
“You’ve heard correctly, Commander.” Westing replied evenly, rolling his cigar in his fingers as he spoke. Replacing it in his mouth, he continued speaking around it. “However, there is a slight problem with the Fifth Armada. Two of the ships have been sabotaged and we need to do some hull repairs on both before they can be considered sea-worthy.”
“Then do so. I have no need of the Fifth Armada for a while. Long enough for the repairs to be done, anyway.” Black ran a hand through his still-thick, ginger colored hair. At twenty-nine, he was the youngest Commander in Chief Lithuné had ever seen, but there was no one who doubted his right to be in such an elevated position of authority.
Another moment of silence passed before Black stood abruptly. “Well, nothing is being done by our sitting here. General, you and the Lieutenant General have troop maneuvers to go over, do you not? Captain Baruch, your ships await and, Fleet Admiral, you will be needed to sign the forms for the repairs. Padre Leif, your presence is required in the MASH 5023 unit to the south.”
The men nodded and stood, collecting their coats and hats as they did so. One by one, they filed out of the tent, but Black detained the last man with a light touch on his sleeve. “Chief Warrant Gerald, if I might have a word?”
Surprised, the Chief Warrant officer nodded and set his hat and coat back on the table, sitting back down as he did so. “Certainly, sir. What did you need to talk to me about?”
Running a finger along his mustache, Black frowned slightly into the distance. “Now that we have declared war upon the Council,” he began. “I am sure you realize the necessity for caution in our procedures from here on out.” Gerald nodded slowly, unsure of where his commanding officer was getting at with this trail of thought. “We—the group that met here today—will be important figureheads in this revolution and we cannot afford to lose even one of our number. However, staying as we are would be inviting a certain attack upon our HQ, which would put all of our lives in danger. How this concerns you,” he held up a hand to forestall any questions. “Is that I require a list of all the men enlisted in this army, separated by the individual squads. In an effort to foil the inevitable attack on us, I am planning to hide each of us in the forces we command, putting substitutes in our places as decoys.”
Gerald was finally given a chance to voice his concerns when Black paused. “But, sir, how will we command the forces if we are not ourselves? The troops will not follow a man they do not know.”
“They do not need to know that we are not truly in command. We will set up a system of relaying the information needed to each other and to our replacements so that the orders are given just like they would if we were still here. This plan will not be immediate, but I would like to implement it as soon as possible.” Black paused for a moment to reflect on the plan. Nodding, he continued. “Yes. That would be good. I already have certain officers who I trust with this responsibility to take our places and I wait only on the information on who is where in this army. As soon as I have that, we can put it into motion. Do you understand what you are to do?”
“Yes, sir, but…” Gerald trailed off as he took in the Commander in Chief’s expression. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Bring me the lists as soon as you can, without bringing attention to yourself any more than you have to. I will be waiting.”
“Yes, sir.”
Black watched Gerald leave, a small smile playing about his lips. The older man had no idea what he was helping set in motion. Great things would be done during this war and some of them could not be done from where he was now.
Unlatching the secret compartment on the side of the large table, he pulled out a small black book. For a moment, he studied it, assessing its suitability. Satisfied, he sat back down and pulled out the same pen he had signed the declaration of war with. Opening the book to the first page, he thought for a moment, then bent over it, the pen making small scratching sounds as he wrote.
Today we declared war on the Council…