Special Case

My dearest love,

It is with a heavy conscience that I must inform you of the events that have unfolded. The enemy has deceived us, having been assisted by a black-hearted turncoat, and plans to penetrate the Southern border. My men and I have chosen to remain at our post. I grieve for the lives that will be lost, but I do not regret my decision to stand.

Rhodes balled the paper with a stiff exhale and tossed it aside. It was all lies. He was brimming with regret. He hadn't wanted to stay.

Foster scooped up the crumpled letter, flattening out the folds as he read it. His eyebrows rose, and he looked at Rhodes over the top of the paper. "You wrote this as if you're certain of our deaths."

Rhodes tapped the point of his quill on the desk, staining the wood with specks of thick, black ink. Thick...like blood. Rhodes shook his head and whipped out a second sheet of paper, furiously scribbling down words. "We are going to die," he said. "Are we not?"

"You're no prophet, Captain."

"But what I am is astute. Our odds of survival are little to none." Scowling down at his work, Rhodes crumpled the paper and started anew.

"Have you sent for reinforcements?"

"There's no time."

"False."

"Our forces reside at the Northern border, Foster. That's a five day ride from here."

"We can last one week."

Rhodes stopped writing mid-sentence and looked up. "What?"

Foster crossed his arms, resting them on his chest. "I inventoried our supplies. If we ration out our food, we can last seven days in this fort."

"It will take five days to send the message, and another five for reinforcements to arrive," Rhodes said. "We're still three days short."

"You can cut the delivery down to two days if you're determined enough."

To shorten a journey by three days meant the rider and their steed would be sacrificing everything, riding through the day and night without pause. Was such a feat even remotely possible?

"No," Rhodes said. "It's too risky, too dangerous."

"We need to get our message out," Foster said. "Or would you rather our deaths be secured?"

"There's no soldier willing to push themselves so far. That trip is a death sentence as much as it is to remain here."

"You don't know that nobody's willing."

"Are you willing to deliver that message, Foster?"

Foster opened his mouth to reply, but quickly shut it again and averted his gaze to look anywhere except at his Captain.

Rhodes made a tsk sound and returned to his letter. "As I thought."

"My skills are required here," Foster shot back. "You know that."

"But if neither of us are willing to make the sacrifice, then why should we demand it of others?"

"I'll do it."

Rhodes and Foster turned to the door. Ellison marched into the room, only for his steps to waver and cower beneath the two men's authoritative gazes.

"Uh, what I mean, sirs," Ellison said, "is that I'll deliver the message."

Foster raised a brow, casting a look at Rhodes. The Captain was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in thought.

"Do you really think this will work, Foster?"

"I couldn't tell you, Captain, but what other choice do we have?"

Rhodes let out a breath and nodded, picking up his quill and starting another letter. "Is Hopkins aware of this plan?"

"He was the sole genius behind it, actually. I'm merely relaying his thought process."

"Ah, of course." Rhodes signed his letter and tucked it into a cream envelope. Taking a candle in his hand, he let the wax dribble onto the envelope and then stamped it with a seal. Rhodes stood from his desk and crossed the room, stopping before Ellison. He held the letter out. "With this I place our lives into your hands, Ellison. Do not let us down."

With quivering hands, Ellison took the letter. "I won't, sir." He gave a salute and bolted out of the office, the letter clutched against his chest.

Rhodes returned to his desk, sinking back down into his chair. There was so much on the line, so much at stake. The enemy would be upon them and everything at the fort was disorganized, a jumbled up mess. Soldiers were strewn about, preparing for God knows what. Hopkins had assumed command, Foster was serving as his number two, and Rhodes, well, Rhodes couldn't even write a simple letter to his wife.

God, what was he doing? His men needed him and here he was holed up in his office, willfully ignorant of what awaited, pretending everything was okay. He should be out there. He should be leading his troops.

But he wasn't.

Rhodes dropped his head into his hands.

"I believe you're lacking faith, Captain." Foster shifted to rest against Rhodes' desk. "A common, but fatal error."

A heavy silence hung in the room, settling upon the two men like a blanket. Foster wasn't fond of the quiet, but it seemed his Captain had a lot on his mind.

"Keith, have I done my men wrong?"

Foster squinted his eyes at the sound of his first name. The Captain didn't typically speak with such casualty. "It's a matter of opinion," Foster said, brushing off Rhodes' informal tone, "but I'll say you've done us well."

"Yet I argued for our retreat. I nearly cost us the war." Rhodes gave a dry laugh. "And—and even now, Hopkins is the one organizing our efforts. He might not be the most proficient at it, but at least he's trying. He's doing something."

"And you haven't?"

Rhodes slammed a fist on the desk. "No, I haven't! All I've done is try to run, abandon my post and my troops so I could return home. I'm selfish, Foster. You know that? I'm not willing to give my life like you and Hopkins and everyone else here is. I'm a selfish hypocrite."

Foster tilted his head. "And yet you're still here."

"Oh, you think so highly of me." Rhodes pressed his hand against his forehead. "I'm still here because I'm scared. Because I'm afraid of what would have happened if I fled." He forced out a shaky breath. "Hopkins spoke the truth. I'm a coward."

"Captain—"

"No, no. We're— We aren't—" Rhodes ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not fit to bear that title. Not anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

Rhodes slipped out of his coat, his Captain's uniform, and set it on the desk. His hand lingered on the navy cloth, finger tracing over an incorrect stitching on the sleeve. He had resewn that himself after taking a blade to the arm. That battle had been a victory.

Rhodes drew his hand back, swallowing back the bitter taste of sorrow. He had to do what was best for his men. "I relinquish my authority," he said. The words felt foreign on his tongue, and to him, the sentence seemed to carry an echo of regret. He paused.

Was he making a mistake?

Rhodes looked to Foster for any telltale signs, but Foster remained silent, his face stoic, giving away nothing of his inner thoughts. Foster didn't appear to approve, but he didn't appear to disapprove either.

Jaw set, Rhodes stood from his desk and walked out of the office, pausing in the doorway. "Inform him of the change in leadership, will you?"

"Where are you going?" Foster asked, but he received no response.

The soldier had left.

Foster stared at where his former Captain had walked out of the office, leaving behind his title, his dignity, and his uniform. Foster hadn't wanted Rhodes to step down, least of all in the middle of a crisis.

But Foster hadn't argued against it either.

As experienced and qualified as Rhodes was, he wasn't fit to lead. Not in his current state, anyways. With all the doubts and fears swimming in his head, Rhodes was barely capable of getting himself under control, much less dozens of men. If the foundation of your castle crumbled, then the walls would soon follow.

Foster scooped up the uniform in the crook of his arm and strode out of the office. Hopkins stood in the center of the bailey, directing troops as they prepared for the enemy's arrival. Hopkins perked up at the sight of Foster approaching and jogged over.

"What did Rhodes say?" Hopkins asked. "Did he agree to it?"

"He said a multitude of things, but yes, your plan has been set in motion."

"Good, good. Has a messenger been sent out or have we yet to do that?"

"Hopkins—"

"Nevermind, I'll ask the Captain myself." Hopkins started for the stairs. "Is he in his office?"

"Hopkins, wait."

He stopped, casting a glance over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Foster held up the blue coat.

Hopkins frowned. "Is that Rhodes' uniform?"

Foster nodded solemnly. Then he walked up to Hopkins, draped the coat over his shoulder, gave him a single pat on the back, and left without another word.

Hopkins took the uniform off his shoulder and held it out in front of him. The gold buttons glinted in the sunlight, beaming with pride and self-importance. Rhodes either stepped down or deserted. Hopkins suspected it may have been the latter, but really, it didn't matter which.

He was in charge now.

Hopkins shed his old soldier's uniform and shrugged the navy coat onto his back, embracing his new title: Captain.

As he tugged at his cuffs and straightened his collar, Hopkins noticed Ellison leading a horse from the stable, a letter in his hand.

"Ellison," he said, "what have you got there?"

Ellison glanced over at Hopkins, his eyes lingering on his comrade's new attire. "Why are you wearing that?" Ellison asked as Hopkins walked over.

"There's been a shift in leadership." Hopkins took the letter from Ellison's hand. "Is this the message for our reinforcements?"

Ellison nodded slowly. "But where is— What happened to Captain Rhodes?"

"Currently, that information is insignificant," Hopkins said. "We will be under siege soon and still have yet to deliver this message. We need to determine who our rider will be."

"I'm going to deliver it."

"You?" Hopkins snorted. "No, certainly not you, Ellison. You wouldn't last a day out there. Don't worry, we'll find somebody else."

Hopkins turned on his heels, setting off to find another soldier. Ellison as the messenger? He was runt of the pack. Ellison couldn't win a fight against a stray cat, much less fend off the enemy while en route to the Northern border.

Hopkins scoffed. Sending Ellison as the messenger… Who was the mastermind behind such lunacy?

Ellison trailed on Hopkins' heels, persistent as ever. "But Hopkins," he said, "We don't need to find another rider. Captain Rhodes allowed me to deliver it."

Rhodes? Oh, of course he would. "I thought this would have been evident," Hopkins said, "but Rhodes isn't thinking straight. You aren't delivering the letter."

Ellison ran in front of Hopkins. "Let me take it."

"No." Hopkins pushed him aside, continuing forward.

"But Captain Rhodes—"

"Has no jurisdiction anymore," Hopkins snapped. "He's gone. I'm in charge. You're staying here."

"All you ever talk about is rising up or chasing honor or showing valor," Ellison said. "Yet you've never once let me have the chance. Why won't you let me prove myself?"

Hopkins whirled around and Ellison stumbled back. "Because unlike you, I've calculated the risks. Because unlike you, I don't matter. I have nobody left who would give a damn if I died which is why I can throw everything away for glory."

He jabbed a finger against Ellison's chest. "Your mother personally asked me to ensure you came out of this conflict alive. She's waiting for you at home. Your father is waiting. Your brothers and sisters are waiting. Your life matters. Do you know that?"

"I-I do know that," Ellison said. "I realize I have family waiting at home, but—"

"Then take them into consideration before you cast yourself into the battlefield."

Ellison trembled, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, and for a moment Hopkins thought he had gone too far. No, Ellison was young and stuck in a childish fantasy. He believed he could do anything, and Hopkins merely brought him back to the cold reality. Life gave you one chance. Best not throw that away.

"If you want to be useful," Hopkins said, "then stay alive. That is all anyone asks of you."

Ellison opened his mouth to respond, but then the frantic sounding of a bell rang throughout the fort.

They were here.

"Jackson!" Hopkins ran to the soldier and shoved the letter into his hands. "Quickly," he said, "take this to the Northern border." Then Hopkins turned to the rest of the troops and shouted, "Prepare for siege!"

Hopkins disappeared into the rush and Jackson scrambled to the stables. Ellison remained standing amongst the fray almost as if frozen in time.

As the fortress gates were hauled ajar, Ellison saw a soldier hand a letter off to Jackson. The messenger tucked the letter into his satchel and gave the soldier a salute before exiting the fort. It was at that moment, as the gates refused to shut again, that Ellison realized everyone here had family too, and yet they weren't avoiding the battlefield. No, they were heading straight for it. Maybe Hopkins thought differently, but everyone's lives here mattered just as much as Ellison's did. He wasn't some special case.

And Ellison decided that if all these men, who were no different than him, were willing to sacrifice everything, then so was he.