Avarice Unfortunate Sons

Burnt Offerings

Victor and Lothar surveyed the pitiful pile of salvage that lay forlornly in the corner of the barn. A mere fraction of the spoils they had hoped to plunder. These few precious bags of grain were all that could be saved from the inferno. All of the hessian sacks were blackened and tainted by smoke. Some of them were full of holes, and the precious seed spilled out onto the dirt.

"Which ones are the canola?" Lothar asked Victor. From somewhere outside, a captive moaned in pain, and the steady crackling of burning timbers could also be heard in the background. The heavy-set, wheelchair bound man was struggling to breathe, the air laden with smoke as he wheezed and coughed.

As his Lord asked this, an uncharacteristic rage descended over Victor's usually cool demeanor. Victor grit his teeth to stifle the sharp retort he could feel coming. How the fuck do I know, I'm not a farmer! His internal monologue shouted. Instead, all he said was with a regimented politeness, "My Lord, I am most unsure." This battle had not yielded the results he had expected. He was brittle and easily agitated. He wanted only to go home.

"You there!" Lothar gestured to one of his men standing at attention by the doorway. The soldier saluted and waited for his Lord's further orders. "Go find someone who can positively identify these seeds, at once!"

Victor took a deep breath and turned away from his commander. As he closed his eyes in an effort to reduce his simmering frustration with the fragile leader.

Some minutes later, the guard returned, dragging a battered captive, announcing. "This man is a farmer, Sir." He dumped the bound man in the dust before the Wolf Lord's wheelchair.

The dusty and bloodied man glared up at his oppressor. Hatred in his dark eyes. Most of the defenders had either died or fled into the desert. There had been few captives taken, yet another blow to the war effort. Lothar and Victor had greatly underestimated the resourcefulness and vindictiveness of their enemy. The soldiers were still putting out fires or disarming booby traps set by the fleeing farmers, and they probably would be for the foreseeable future.

This was not the war Victor had signed on for. This would be a rather protracted and ugly matter as they tried to clear the village of any holdouts and force the few captives to bend to their will.

"Tell me what is in those bags," Lothar commanded from his wheelchair.

"A whole lot of burned seed!" The defiant man spat with venom.

Victor stepped forward and struck the unfortunate captive savagely across the face with his riding crop. It split his lower lip and left an angry red welt on his cheek. "He wasn't asking you for your feelings, slave." Victor retorted forcefully. "What is in the bags, precisely?" He tapped his crop with purpose on the side of his black boots, promising more pain. He was becoming increasingly impatient.

The bound man struggled forward on his knees and peered closer at the damaged grain. Announcing what was in the charred sacks. "Sunflower seed, barley, wheat, some corn."

"God damn it, man! Is there any canola?" Lothar spat impatiently.

"This bag here," the man indicated a particularly charred sack of dark-looking seed.

"Just the one bag," Lothar said under his breath, more to himself than anyone else present. "I wish Harrison were here..." His words trailed off unfinished and downbeat.

Victor felt a cold wave of dread engulf him. Harrison, of course, was responsible for the generator that ran the fort. He was a seasoned mechanic and understood how to keep the power on. He was also knowledgeable in extracting diesel oil from various crops, but in the past, they had only ever used canola seed. There had always been a generous supply via the treaty. It didn't matter, though; clearly, Victor could see that this paltry amount of seed would never be enough to grow the vast quantity they needed by next year. Even if a good amount of this seed germinated, it would be years until they had any chance at a viable source of fuel.

This mission was becoming more dreadful by the hour. What should have been an easy victory was fast burgeoning into epic hardship. If they could not fuel the generators, what would they do? Victor just wished to return home, to the arms of his slave girl and console himself.

"I must think," Lothar said finally, breaking the tension. Gesturing to his man to wheel him from the storage shed. Victor followed him out into the fading light. Somewhere among the burning homes a shot was fired...

Tell the men to ferry the supplies across the river. We will make camp here. That seed must get in the ground.

*****

Lothar's plans had changed substantially with the circumstances surrounding the takeover. The scenario was not as he had wished it to be. There was important work to oversee here before he could even think about returning to his fort. This kind of delay had never factored into his plans.

The Wolf Lord had immediately commandeered Stephan's homestead for his own use. There were many comfortable rooms that he could easily access on the ground floor. It was a delight for the wheelchair-bound man to be able to move with relative ease through the many rooms of this sprawling home.

The great hall, where a succession of memorable occasions such as weddings, celebrations, and pivotal meetings had been held over the years, became a barracks. The makeshift infirmary, with a few minor tweaks, provided excellent housing for the main body of his troops. Lothar would be very safe here with this house brimming with his forces.

The most senior of Lothar's men took possession of the more substantial homes in Stephan's village. The few injured were ferried on makeshift stretchers to the smaller Doctors' facility. There it was easier for Victor to tend them, and far quieter for their recovery.

Today, the soldiers had been sent to round up the scattered farm animals and corral them. They, too, would play an important part, as they were needed to provide sustenance to the large host of men. It had been decided that they must remain here for the foreseeable future, and sow what little seed they had rescued from the blaze. It was well past the planting season, but it was a gamble that they must take.

Victor sat alone on the stone wall beneath the Wolf's apple tree that was burgeoning with swelling green fruit. He was weighing up his situation. He desired to return to the fort. Yet he had to capitulate to Lothar's demands. He knew his daughter would be fine during his absence. She had plenty of supplies in their locked apartment, and Harrison, the head mechanic, had assured Lothar that the remaining generator would still have fuel for some months yet. Would it last until next year, though? That was the question. Was it possible to turn some of the other crops into bio-diesel? He sure hoped so. There was so much at stake.

The bright heat of the day was scorching. Victor didn't envy the men toiling down there in the fields. The leafy canopy provided Krosse with a pleasant coolness as he observed the soldiers goading the often unwilling captives to till the fields below. Irrigation ditches were also being dug in the red earth closer to the river.

He could see Hawkins and Greyson doing their halfhearted best in this dreadful heat to inspire the men to move faster. He was doubly glad he didn't have to be an example to the men like the Major and the Captain did.

Irritated, he slapped his gloved hand hard on his thigh; he was no farmer. He didn't know a thing about it. Now he was stranded here, far from her. He was not happy about it either. All he wished for was to get these fields planted and hope that Lothar would allow him to return to the fort, and soon.

Victor was glad that, as second in command and a doctor, his skills were more valuable elsewhere. He had, in fact, spent the entirety of the morning treating wounds and tending to patients who were critically injured in the infirmary.

Victor's nose rumpled with disgust as he caught a whiff of his unwashed uniform. The unpleasant taint of blood, death, and smoke lingered in the fabric. Lothar's boy had done the best he could, maintaining the heavy uniforms of the officers in the field. But the brush down with the suede brush, and the spot cleans could only do so much. Victor longed to be home, where he had the luxury of his own private laundry and a beautiful girl to do it. At least his hands were clean, it was about the only thing he had control over. And Victor hated nothing more than not having complete control.

*****

Later that same evening, Victor and Lothar were seated in the kitchen. While the camp chef prepared the evening meal. The delicious aromas of roast lamb, fresh-baked bread, and basted vegetables wafted to them in a mouthwatering cocktail of deliciousness.

Victor could see his Lord eyeing the Spanish cedar humidor and the carafe of brandy that had been placed high up on the kitchen shelf. Lothar had brought these particular items with him to celebrate his victory. As of yet, though, there had been no celebrations. The destruction of the granary had put a dampener on everyone's spirits.

"How goes the planting, Victor?" Lothar said suddenly.

"It's slow, but they appear to be making good progress. About half of the seed is now in the ground."

"The irrigation ditches... what is their status?"

"They appear to have the water ditches dug far enough to begin some of the irrigation, my Lord."

"That is indeed good news." Lothar again eyed the humidor before announcing. "Boy, get down my cigars."

Lothar's valet jumped from his place to fulfill his Lord's request. With white gloved hands, he presented the opened box. Holding it steady, while Lothar chose a Tatascan Red. He then hurried away to the kitchen fire to get his Lord a light.

Lothar lit the cigar and puffed as he coughed a moist chesty cough.

"You should not be smoking that, my Lord..."

"Yes! I know!" Lothar snapped ruthlessly. As he took another defiant puff, deliberately blowing the resultant smoke in the doctor's direction. He was tired of hearing what he could and could not do from his second in command.

"Boy...get me the brandy." Lothar again looked at Victor in open defiance, as the crystal glass was filled on the tabletop before him by his white gloved servant.

Victor didn't comment further, but turned his eyes to watch the industrious cook. Dinner was almost ready, and he was hungry. This was the best meal they had eaten since they had first marched for this war.

Lothar took a deep drink from the crystal glass. Then he gazed across at Victor. Victor realized his commander was staring at him. Taking his eyes from the cook who was carving the roast and focused on Lothar once more.

"I want you to see if that woman who attacked me has a last request?" Lothar said.

Victor's eyes were directly on his Lord, but he didn't immediately answer. A last request usually meant an execution. It was an unusual thing for Lothar to honor such a formality, though. Especially for a waste lander. Victor wondered why. He was always careful in answering his Lord. It was rare that he immediately responded with anything more than a simple yes or no. Victor had not held silent power for so long by being flippant with his words. He often examined many possible responses before he finally spoke.

"Yes, my Lord. I will see to it after dinner. I would have thought, though, that you might have thrown that little spitfire to your men? Seems like a just and fitting punishment."

"No," Lothar stated firmly, taking another long puff on his Tatascan Red. His eyes closed with the pleasure it provided, now that the worst of his coughing had passed. "There is nothing to be gained from a show like that. Sometimes, Victor, your lack of intelligence surprises me." Lothar gave Victor the most arrogant glare.

Victor glanced away as Lothar delivered the stinging rebuke. Let him think he's so smart. As he suppressed the smug look that threatened to give his thoughts on the matter away.

*****

Chi had spent the day in her small cell with pen, paper, and her thoughts. Her last request, a letter, was to be delivered into the hands of her beloved sister Euhang. Who she had discovered was now the wife of Major Hawkins.

So on that promise, she had begun to write. As she did so, she thought of the bright days gone by. Of a time before the war. Of their days spent at school together, and her family. All gone now but Euhang. The love she carried for her sister was deep. Chi's dark, usually unreadable, and emotionless eyes welled with tears. That sometimes dripped onto the paper, smudging the lines that she had so carefully penned. All too soon, the afternoon drifted by.

Chi gazed at her final sunset. It was neither breathtaking nor dull. To Chi though, in those last moments, it looked spectacular. She could see the beauty in it far more clearly, enjoying its every colored nuance. The riflemen escorted her to the place where the generous bales of hay were piled near the large barn.

The charges were read, and the sentence passed. Death by firing squad. They asked Chi if she had any last words. Chi was silent; she had given all of her words to her sister.

Then there was the darkness and uncertainty of the blindfold, as she was backed up against the wall of hay. The smell of the fresh-cut meadow grass, Chi inhaled deeply. Anchoring her to that moment where she thought of golden sun rises and new growth. Her time here was over, as she heard the sound of rifles being cocked and the command uttered...

Victor crossed the barren yard toward the diminutive prisoner. He already knew she was dead. However, as a doctor, it was always his duty to officiate at every execution and declare the condemned deceased. He did this without fanfare, as he had done hundreds of times before. Then he turned away as the men were already carrying the corpse away to the mass grave just beyond the east wall.