22 Manufactured Morale (2/2)
”Over here,” Brym said as he led Corco over to a cluster of men who had grouped themselves around one of the beds in the room. On his way there, the chief commander observed the surroundings. The so-called doctors ran all over the place as they offered their limited help to desperate men. Among them, yet so distinct, he spotted Ronnie. With his simple use of modern-day first aid, the alchemist must have been responsible for more saved lives than all real doctors in the room combined. Of course, neither man had time for chatter, so they only shared a nod before they carried on with their respective work. They both were too busy saving the city, each of them in their own way.
At last, Corco had ended up in front of the troublesome group of men, and found it to be two, rather than one. The two parties stood over another man's body, injured or dead, and argued with animated voices. With all the chaos around them, the prince couldn't even make out what they were saying until he reached them.
”Boss,” Ulf, one of his own workers, and apparent leader of one side of the argument, called out once he had spotted them. Right away, all men calmed down. Together, the embattled parties stood up straight and called out ”chief commander.” No matter what, the month of military drills hadn't been for nothing, even though their training was still superficial.
”What's going on here?” Corco asked in the stern tone he had trained over the last month, arms crossed behind his back and chest puffed out. With a frown, he looked over to the side Ulf had opposed. With Ulf's earnest character, the commander knew that the worker would never stir up trouble during the siege, so the problems must have come from the other side.
”Sir Fastgrade,” one of the men began, ”we can't fight any longer. Resistance has become impossible.”
”You just don't wanna fight your Reverer buddies from Borna!” Ulf shouted, but a stern look from Corco shut his mouth again.
Rather than answer the original concern, Corco just stared at the Reverer and waited. Emboldened, the man continued. ”We've been fighting day and night, ten days now! And last night we put out fires all night too! The men haven't even slept any! And now Braden died too! The Bornish attacks are worse and worse! Like this, won't we just make them more angry if we hit back?”
Corco just stood there for a while, as he stared the man down. Inch by inch, the Reverer's shoulders sank, as he shrank under the stern gaze of his drill sergeant. At last, the chief commander answered the confused, frantic concerns.
”So you think that winning is impossible, so we might as well cut a deal with the Bornish and surrender. Is that it?”
Though they were terrified of their boss, the Reverers to the left of the dead Braden still managed a unified response, although it consisted of only nods and mumbled words. Corco countered their naive view with a sneer.
”You really think that surrender will save you? I don't blame you for being Reverers or whatever. I understand your thoughts. You're afraid. You're terrified. You have never seen blood and pain like this, and you don't want to die. But you've never thought about the alternative either: What happens if the Bornish win, if we surrender? What will they do with us?”
”They'll just take the city, right? I mean, they can't be worse than the merchant's union.” a small voice came from the back. Corco only replied with a harmless smile, until the man had disappeared behind the back of his fellow soldier.
”You really believe that, honestly, from your heart? Just think about all that has happened over the last few days. Sure, the Bornish acted all proper and knightish at the start, announcing their attacks, only attacking during the day, using the off-time as ceasefires to move away the dead... but look at what's happened since. Those bastards have shown their true nature more and more. You were exhausted from last night. Why is that exactly? Isn't it only because the honorable bornish knights decided to burn down the entire fucking city? You really believe that things will get better, even if we surrender? The Bornish aren't here to conquer us, they're only here to wipe us off the map, down to the last man, out of no better reason but revenge. Don't forget who leads their troops.”
”The butcher of Borna,” an especially brave soldier whispered under his breath, as if he was telling a ghost story at a camp fire. As the Bornish Commander of the siege ten years ago, Duke Herak of Balit had unmatched infamy within Etra. It was a reputation Corco could make good use of now.
”That's right. Do you really think the butcher of Borna is gonna let you guys go, or your families, for that matter, just because you're all Reverers? You believe that monster has any faith, in anything? No, he'll go through every alley himself, and wring every last baby's neck, Reverer or not. Believe me, if we continue to resist, whatever fate awaits us, it cannot be worse than our fate after surrender.”
”But... but there is no win in sight. The Bornish haven't let up, and instead have come with more men every day. The only way to hit them back are the new matchlock guns, but even then, we're low on powder now, so it's not gonna last. What can we do?” A worried soldier held against Corco's speech. The chief commander could see his troops shiver and huddle together. As they found no escape from their fate, they despaired. At last, a sly smile crept onto Corco's face. He would tell them of his strategy, and give them a way out. The desperation would weld them together, give them the power to hold the walls. After all, opposing destiny was Corco's specialty.
”We don't need to win, we just need to hold out, just a bit longer. The longer the Bornish take, the weaker they seem, the more rules of knightly conduct they break; the more interested our neighbors will become. We just need to wait, wait until the Bornish wounds have begun to fester, until the vultures start to circle.”