Captain’s orders
After four hours sleep Mary was brought to alertness by the sound of movements among the troops around her bunk. Dawn was emerging and members of the Resistance militia were congregating before Captain Horak who stood upon a small box to address them. He hardly needed it since he was almost 2 meters tall, but it helped him to get his message to the ranks at the back. Mary swiftly joined them and Captain Horak began to speak.
“Today is a momentous turn in the tide of our war” he said, addressing the entire assembly of militia, messengers and refugees who listened to him whisper loudly enough so that everyone could hear without him even raising his voice. It added to the gravity required for his overall delivery, considering the circumstances at hand. He continued, “I have just received news that the regime in the capital is falling.” There was a sudden burst of cheer and uproar as all the assembled outcasts suddenly coalesced into a victorious band who looked as if their football team had just scored the winning goal. “Not so fast,” he interrupted. “We still have a long way to go. The most treacherous and challenging time may still lie ahead of us. Often the biggest mistakes are made just before the final goal is reached. We can’t afford to make any of those mistakes right now comrades.” He addressed them by the old term used in the past regime, appealing to their instinctive deep unconscious sense of unity and belonging, despite being little more than a disparate band of left-over citizens in the provinces that had just experienced a year of bombardment from the east, while having had over five years of bombardment from the capital in the west. The border provinces didn’t like the despotic rule of mad King Zoller in the capital to the west, and they had voted to secede a long time ago already. National borders were constantly changing here in the marginal territory of Ursa Minor and Ursa Major.
Captain Horak raised his whisper slightly and the crowd hushed instantly. “My reports tell me that corruption has forced half of the cabinet of King Zoller to resign under suspicion of theft of war funds meant to supply weapons and food for we citizens of Ursa Minor.” He paused to let the news sink in for a moment and then continued. “In other words the leadership at the top don’t care about us here at the front. Nor do they hide their affluence while we starve in the bombed out shells of our former homes.” This was indeed the case and there was no denying it at this point. The message the Mary had just delivered the night before seemed to be the clinch pin upon which the future of the entire eastern provinces and the Resistance rested.
The tall and handsome young captain was a natural leader of men... and women. Despite his young age under 30, he had been thrown into the fray of the war, and being the only one to survive this long in his regiment, he had ended up receiving the leadership role by default. “Battlefield promotion” was the order of the day in the current war. When the actual officers fall in battle, then the officer in command has no other choice but to simply promote every fifth man to the higher rank of lieutenant, to lead the remaining troops over the top for the next charge. You know that they are not qualified and that many will fall in battle, but there is no other choice. Captain Horak spoke to the crowd as if he were speaking to every individual personally. He said, “Today we begin our evacuation to the eastern border and across to sanctuary in Ursa Major. Our homeland of Ursa Minor has been captured and we are better off under the allegiance of our cousins to the east. At least there we are free to practice our old organic ways and not fear exploitation by the regime. This is my collective order to all the Resistance members as well as all remaining refugees. We leave this morning. Take your personal belongings and join the train. We reconnoitre with our brothers and sisters from the other five border provinces across the eastern border in two days. We can do this. We head out immediately.” The captain alighted from his small box platform and strode over to Mary and the messengers standing around her. They were the elite horseback riders who were a crucial part of the Resistance communications network. In any battle, information is key to victory or defeat. The riders were the most at risk since they mostly traveled alone and across larger swathes of territory. Thus they remained younger than many of the other troops as few lived to achieve veteran status.
Mary watched Captain Horak stride toward them and couldn’t help but admire his cool walk, a type of speedy ability to appear as if he was gliding with the least bit of effort across the floor. When he reached them the Captain said, “Riders, I’m dispatching each one of you to one of the five eastern provinces. You are to convey my message to the leading administrator of the region overseeing the refugees and see to it that they understand the message and its urgency. We are to move out and march across the border to the east. All citizens are to follow their heads in convoy to the required meeting point, where we will then disperse into the surrounding villages in Ursa Major.” Horak gave each messenger rider an envelope to deliver and with his usual confident smile, said to them in a lowered tone, “You are key to this operation riders, the fate of thousands depends on you.” Mary felt her heart swell as she considered her place in the Resistance and the service she could render.
Captain Horak then looked at Mary directly and addressed her saying, “Curie, since you are less familiar with our terrain here, you will deliver your message to the closest village just 25 miles away, and there assist the administrator to shepherd the villagers to our designated rendezvous zone, two days ride to the east.” Mary looked into Captain Horak’s deep dark eyes that seemed to pierce into hers. His words penetrated just as deep when he continued, “And I will meet you there Curie, to continue discussing our plans for the future.” Mary felt empowered by the captain’s words and charisma. She bowed her head slightly to him in deference upon hearing his commands. Neither the uniforms nor the salutes were at all formal or regimented among the Resistance, especially at the front. There was no facility for it. Survival was all that mattered and rank was of little significance either. Men and women simply did the needful and those who were inclined naturally rose to the top of the group as leaders of their peers.
Inspired by Captain Horak’s orders, Mary departed as the meeting broke up and took to her saddle immediately, grabbing some food to eat on the road. The ride to the nearby village was a few hours long and she planned to keep ahead of schedule in case of unforeseen events. By the time she arrived at the village, it was late morning and Mary noticed that there were no people around. She rode slowly into the village center and looked around, dismounting eventually to make a closer inspection. It was only then that she saw a small figure emerge from behind the rubble of a ruined house. Then another appeared, and another. Soon numerous weathered and worn people of all ages were slowly appearing from their hiding places and looking at her in what seemed to Mary as deep desperation. A woman approached her and took her hand. “I’m so happy to see you, my dear messenger, what news do you bring from Captain Horak?”
Mary was struck by the distress of the people and replied, giving the letter to the diminutive lady, “We are all evacuating to the east,” she said, taking the woman’s hands in hers. “Rally the people and we can make our exit immediately. There is no time to waste. I’m here to help, so let’s make a speedy departure.” The woman, who looked rather small for a leader, looked up at Mary’s face and said, “At last, a ray of hope. Your service is much appreciated. You can call me Doctor Bikal. I am the last remaining doctor in this village of five hundred people. We have been waiting for news and direction. Let’s begin the evacuation immediately. I will address the people.” Mary looked at the congregating souls as they drew nearer under the call of Dr Bikal, their leader. They all seemed in a state of shock and distress, which was natural under the circumstances after a year of bombardment at the center of the fighting. She knew there was one thing she could do immediately that would really assist them, one and all.
As they all proceeded to take to the little track that served as a road out of the village, Mary stood by the side of it and proceeded to give each citizen a small dose of the psilocybin mushrooms from the stash given to her by the old medicine woman back in the Marginelle Forest. By dividing up a single adult dose into ten parts, she was able to give this micro-dose to all the citizens, adults and children, as they passed her on the trek out of the bombed village. The medicinal value was known and with such a small dose, the people would not feel any mind-altering effects, but would benefit from the boost to their serotonin and the healing that their minds would receive from these sacred and respected plant medicines.
The day wore on and the bedraggled refugees wound their way along the small dirt track into the eastern hinterland, toward the frontier and actual border crossing into Ursa Major. Mary noticed that there were more smiles upon the faces of the citizens in the long train of marchers and donkey riders. They had something to look forward to. It appeared that their impasse was over and a solution was at hand. And the mushrooms were helping them to relax and de-stress. Dr Bikal approached Mary, who rode on her horse beside the long train of villagers, keeping watch over them from her heightened vantage point. The doctor said, “I just want to thank you again for your help today Mary, I can see how much improved the people appear to be, since you arrived, and our future appears to have hope.”
Mary smiled and responded, “It’s my pleasure to be of service Doctor. Between us we will work this out and make a fresh start in a more nurturing country where we can practice our organic and original ways, as our ancestors did. The west is dying. All their culture is already drained from them and now they are losing even their minds and freedoms. We will see them come to an end, like all empires, and organic living will thrive. The east will rise and we will be part of it.” Doctor Bikal smiled back and left Mary’s side to join her community of citizens. Their march was still a night and a day ahead of them before they reached the rendezvous point with the other villages. They were free from their bombed out wreck of a village, but they were still vulnerable on the open road. Mary and Doctor Bikal were the only two on horseback, while some rode on donkeys and many walked. So much had been achieved, yet so much still lay at stake and at risk, at this critical hour in the march of time through the history of civilizations in the shaping.
(image Pixabay)