The Lieutenant's Trial

Lieutenant Stark Denmark opened his eyes from his dreamless slumber and noted the time of day: five hundred hours. First light was barely breaking over the horizon, and he knew he had another hour to present himself before the court. It was his trial, after all. It could very well be his last.

The uniform was cleaned, pressed, and awaiting his return. The black shoes were already shined and waxed, smelling like they had not been worn before. He grimaced; those bastards did it again! Menial tasks like keeping his clothes cleaned and polishing his shoes gave him peace of mind. Now, he tediously put on the attire, feeling the weight of what was to come. He would want to be led before the crowd fully presentable, to stand on that stage and give any words he had left to say, whether encouraging or detrimental. Maybe he should have written something down?

Whatever thoughts of speeches to be laid bare while finally wrapping his tie correctly around his neck were interrupted as, earlier than anticipated, his door was opened and two guards came in, both armed to the teeth and both posting themselves opposite of the threshold. Following behind them was a young chaplain; he was also armed, with the left hip sporting a revolver in its holster and the right hip sporting a large knife. It was the Bible in his hands, though, that drew the most attention; like so many soldiers, it had seen action even upon the field, with telltale signs of wear and tear, but there were also the stains of mud and blood upon it. A busy chaplain, thought the Lieutenant.

"Are you ready, sir?" asked the young priestly man.

Stark nodded. The chaplain nodded back, turned, and proceeded to leave the room with Stark following him, the two guards closing up the room and bringing up the rear.

Down the long and windowed hallway they moved, like ballistics leaving the barrel in slow motion. Already, the dawn poured through in all its fantastical pink and blood-red imagery. There were the sounds of early morning; vehicles moved more abruptly and in abundance, both military and civilian. The day stirred all around him, yet an ambience of a dead calm kept pace with Stark. It stayed with him even when his little troop finally left the building and entered the grounds.

There was the platform, there were the people, there were the officers from Lieutenants to Captains, a few Colonels, and one Major General recognized by his emblem and age. All of this, just for him, on a good day for a trial, so why not hold it outside? He smiled, knowing that he would get what was coming to him whether he felt that he deserved it or not.

Another hallway was passed through, this time made up of bodies with more guards posted between him and the people watching in silence; the guards were masked, making it hard to read their expressions, yet Stark could feel their eyes piercing him. He continued through the armed tunnel, making his way to the stairs while the chaplain practically flew up and roosted on the edge.

When Stark finally stepped onto the platform, the chaplain opened his Bible and flipped through the pages, giving the Lieutenant to survey his audience before standing to attention, remembering his duty of demeanor. Finally, the chaplain stopped flipping, cleared his throat, and announced his opening statement straight from Kings 1, 8:32:

“Then hear thou in Heaven, and do, and judge thy servants, condemning the wicked, to bring his way upon his head, and justifying the righteous, to give him according to his righteousness.”

After this, the chaplain closed his Bible, stepping aside to make way for the Major General. In contrast, the Major General towered over both the chaplain and the Lieutenant, with the wrinkles of age vying for dominance with the scars of bygone battles. Several medals gleamed in the growing sunlight, while his dark officer’s regimentals seemed to absorb the glow of day. His gaze took in the world through eyelids closed into slits, reminding Stark of embrasures on a battlement. Clearing his throat, the Major General spoke:

“Good people, my people, subjects of our good King, I bid you first a good morning!” To this, he bowed, then straightened and continued; “We have a nation. A nation that is built by the hands of farmers, laborers, blacksmiths, entertainers, and soldiers. Here, like our King, all persons represent this nation to the best of their abilities. But our enemies, either from afar or amongst us, tend to bring out the worst from us. One of these ways is war.”

A ripple of acknowledgement moved through the crowd, and then the Major General continued; “War tests us. War tears us. War takes from not just the King, but from all in this nation. Farmers lose crops, blacksmiths lose metals, entertainers lose audiences, and laborers lose homes. In war, we also lose our soldiers.”

Here, he turned to look upon the Lieutenant with those same arrow-slit eyes. “Aside from the weaponry used, from our explosives and ballistics to our blades and fixed bayonets, soldiers of both sides are lost due to orders given, even carried out, by their officers. One such order had our very own Lieutenant Stark Denmark embark on a simple survey and return mission, to be completed in a day. But it wasn’t a day, was it?” 

Stark did not answer, knowing the question was rhetorical. He remained at attention, the Major General scanning him up and down before turning perpendicular to the Lieutenant and resuming:

“Your survey team consisted of twenty individuals, including yourself, and you got close enough to the base that your bad breath could have been picked up by their perimeter. By your own account, you noted that the base was collecting supplies and vehicles, rallying resources to push their force over our lines. But then, the enemy’s own survey team caught sight of your group on their return, and you did the unthinkable; you gave the order to charge into the base…through the front gate!”

Another ripple of noise took over the crowd, and the Major General looked to the people. “A desperate attempt for an unaccountable turn of events, I agree. You wanted your men to not be captured nor caught in a crossfire. There would be many who said that you took them out of the frying pan and into the fire, and those incendiary grenades you found provided fire, didn’t they? Running from place to place, utilizing the environment against the enemy, even taking and turning their own weapons against them. Quite a harrowing story, one that could have generations play this out as a complete disaster, which it was!”

At this, the Major General turned back to stare into Stark’s eyes. “Twenty individuals, the King’s soldiers, were told to run into that base. Ten minutes later, estimated, seven managed to obtain an enemy vehicle from the aforementioned patrol and ride out from the supply base, which was now a raging inferno. All of that, resulting in the sacrifice of thirteen sons of the King’s nation, were made by your decision because of a failure to remain unseen to the enemy by one of your members.” Then the Major General stepped closer to the Lieutenant, reached out, and grabbed the Lieutenant’s insignia upon his collar. “You will no longer be wearing this!”

A gasp was heard from the crowd, followed by a whisper that died out as the Major General held up the insignia and, after motioning to the chaplain, gave it to him and was given something else in return. 

“You won’t be a Lieutenant in the King’s military anymore. You, instead, will be made Captain.”

Now it was Stark’s turn to gasp, poised as he was in continued rigid posing. In a series of motions akin to a composer of music, or even a director of movies, the Major General presented the insignia of a Captain’s rank, walking over to Stark and clipping the emblem upon the collar. After this, the Major General turned back to the crowd:

“This man’s actions have halted the enemy in their tracks, having lost most of their supplies and a tactical position near our borders, resulting in their own soldiers being called to retreat. Due to this, countless lives have been spared even if for a short time. That means more of our soldiers can return home to their families, more supplies can be made readily available, and more time can be made for strategies as well as negotiations. For now, though, our own Captain Stark Denmark will no longer be part of any group, he will be leading groups. His demonstration of immediate actions in answer to immediate dilemmas has garnered the attention of even the King himself. After careful consideration, our King recommended his promotion, seeing the potential leadership in his character. So, my people, I give you your new Captain, soon to lead a future company of the King’s best soldiers!”

The light of dawn had already broken through the day and, if there was a sound to follow this colorful explosion, it would have been here amongst the erupting cheer of the crowd, with applause to follow. The Major General turned back to face his new Captain; with this act, Stark immediately saluted. His Major General returned the salute, adding one more remark:

"Do this for the thirteen, son."