The problem with Commander Harl's militia was not their lack of courage, but their lack of experience. Courage dies quickly when discipline fails.
Deacon spent the morning watching them train in the muddy courtyard outside the North Gate. Ninety-seven townsfolk, armed with spears and dull shortswords, shuffling through drills that Harl seemed to have copied from a children's pageant.
"Hold the line!" Harl bellowed, his face red with effort. "Keep the shield wall tight! Close the gap!"
The moment the men and women tried to move forward in formation, the line broke. A man tripped, dropping his shield. A woman shouted at him, breaking the silence. Three spears tangled, and the entire formation dissolved into a shambolic clump.
Deacon stood on a raised platform, arms crossed in the borrowed tunic of Lord Cassian. Commander Harl, seeing his Lord observing, looked mortified.
"My Lord, they are peasants! They fear the spear more than they fear the Goblins!" Harl confessed, marching up to the platform.
"Fear is a tool, Commander, not an obstacle," Deacon replied, his eyes scanning the chaos. He wasn't looking for the worst; he was looking for the best.
He was searching for a soldier—an NCO—whose professional instincts would override their civilian fear. He needed the S-3 (Operations Chief), the expert in small-unit tactics and training.
He saw the typical signs of military competence: the man who didn't drop his spear even when jostled; the woman who instinctively covered her partner's exposed flank. But they were isolated, overwhelmed by the collective panic.
Then he saw her.
She was near the back of the formation, dressed in the dark, sturdy clothing of a town guard who spent more time on patrol than drilling. She was lean and powerfully built, not bulky, and she was carrying a simple axe rather than a spear. She wasn't participating in the drill; she was watching.
When the line broke, every other militiaman either cursed, looked terrified, or looked at Harl for instruction. This woman did none of that. She silently took two quick steps, grabbed the arm of the fallen man, hauled him to his feet, kicked his dropped shield back into his grasp, and shoved him back into the gap—all in less than three seconds.
Her face was emotionless, taut with silent, professional fury. She wasn't angry at the man; she was angry at the failure of execution. She had reacted not as a peasant, but as an Infantry Squad Leader solving a problem.
"Who is that woman, Commander?" Deacon asked, pointing with a casual finger.
"That is Renna, My Lord. She's a guard on the South Watch, often hired as a hunter. She's quiet, keeps to herself. Good with the axe, but bad with people."
Good with the axe. Bad with people. Instinctive battlefield correction. Deacon knew he had found Staff Sergeant Elena "Ellie" Rodriguez, his former infantry squad leader.
"She is the only one demonstrating competence," Deacon stated. "Her corrective action was faster than yours, Harl. She will be the one to fix this. Bring her to me."
The Unconventional Deployment
Renna was brought before the Castellan, her face impassive. She dropped to one knee, a practiced, almost bored reverence.
"Renna," Deacon said, stepping off the platform. "You observe this disaster. Why does the line fail?"
Renna spoke, her voice low and gravelly, the sound of a woman who did not waste breath. "They are scared of their neighbors, Castellan, not the Goblins. They do not trust the man next to them to hold his ground, so they look to see what he's doing, breaking their own cover."
Trust and cover—the fundamentals of modern small-unit tactics.
"And how would you fix it?"
"You do not fix the line, My Lord. You break it up. You give them a small job that is only their job. A team of three: one shields, one spears, one reserve. They trust the two people they can touch. Then you chain the teams together. That is all they can manage."
Fireteam doctrine. Basic NCO strategy. Deacon felt a surge of validation and relief.
"I agree, Renna. Commander Harl's training methods are, with respect, antiquated." Deacon turned to Harl, who looked deeply offended. "Commander, I am assuming this woman's services. She has demonstrated superior tactical insight. She will be my Field Tactician for the next three days. She reports directly to me. You will follow her instructions without question."
"My Lord, a hunter? Over my experience—" Harl protested.
"I do not care if she is a drunken beggar, Harl. If she can stop the Goblins, she will command the Emperor's Guard. Her command is temporary, but absolute. Do not cross her." Deacon's blue eyes were hard, silencing Harl instantly.
He dismissed Harl, then leaned in close to Renna, letting the noise of the stumbling militia cover his voice.
"Staff Sergeant Rodriguez," Deacon whispered. "You are S-3 now. Your cover is Field Tactician Renna."
Renna's eyes, which had been dull, suddenly became hyper-focused, gleaming with a professional intensity that SFC Hayes remembered well. She did not whisper. She only moved her lips.
"Hayes. Status report. Where are the weapons? We have nothing."
Deacon shook his head slightly. "No weapons. Improvise. Mission: Turn the line into five-man fire teams. Teach them to trust their neighbor over the command. Teach them Cover and Concealment. You have two days before I need you for the deployment plan."
"Understood, Sergeant," Renna mouthed, her jaw tight. "I need a man who knows how to move quietly. Someone who can get past the town guard without notice."
Deacon knew exactly who that was. His S-2/S-6. But he hadn't identified the soldier yet.
"I will provide you a logistics runner, Renna. Someone who will take your messages from the training field back to my office. His cover name is 'Balthasar, the Beggar.' You will find him waiting near the South Well at sunset. Use him, trust him, and remember your duty, Staff Sergeant. The lily pad relies on you."
Renna/Rodriguez simply nodded once, a sharp, military snap of the neck. She turned, walked back to the militia, and let out a sharp, unexpected bellow that silenced the entire courtyard.
"You pathetic wastes of goat feed! Put the spears down! You are going to learn how to breathe before you learn how to fight!"
Deacon smiled thinly. His S-3 was active.
Communications Protocol: Major Kiley's Paper
Deacon returned to the Hold to find the Steward in a furious state.
"My Lord! The physician, Dr. Kelly, is demanding excessive amounts of the finest, most expensive vellum! He claims he needs to 'precisely catalog the fevers of the old.' It is waste!"
"The Castellan pays for the vellum, Steward. Give it to him. He is a physician of great skill," Deacon said, waving away the complaint.
He immediately had Elara send a runner to Dr. Kelly with the following note:
Doctor Kelly, I require your urgent medical opinion on a series of historic maps showing the natural Flow of the Illness in the Northern Estates. Return the maps with your findings and any Pertinent Analysis Precisely Expressed Regarding the Flow.
Deacon knew the Major would recognize the stilted, odd phrasing. He was instructing Kiley on the use of the paper:
FINE:F-I-N-E is a confirmation code.
PAPER:P-A-P-E-R is the instruction to use the fine paper as a dead drop location or for encrypted messages.
Flow: This was a hint toward using a map—a visual tool—for communication.
Later that evening, the Steward returned with the Major's response: a set of old, blank parchment maps of the Blackwood trails. The Major had drawn complex lines on them, marking routes, potential enemy gathering points, and points of strategic terrain—all based on his new body's local knowledge.
But on the back of the map, written in the tiny, precise handwriting of a medical transcription, was a list of required supplies:
1. Dried Unguent (for burns).2. Strong Tin (for surgical instruments).3. Binding Agent (for wounds).
Deacon felt his mind snap through the code. The Major had used the first letter of each item: D.U.S.T. B.A.
DUST BA: Likely a callsign for the next targeted asset. Dust Bunny? Deep Undercover Spy/Tactician?
He smiled grimly. His Shadow Command was now fully activated in the field (S-4, S-7, S-3) and in the background (S-5/Major Kiley). Now, he needed his eyes and ears on the street, the man who could move unnoticed and provide the next step in the Major's coded request.
He called for Elara. "I need a man of… discreet appearance. Someone who knows the shadows and the back alleys. Send word for a beggar named Balthasar to report to my office. He will be Renna's new assistant."
Balthasar would be the key to finding the S-2/S-6 (Comms/Intelligence) asset and completing the Major's cryptic request.