Chapter 15 #2
The front door opened and shut quietly. Light footsteps Elliot knew briskly traversed the wooden floor behind him.
He thought he’d been the first to wake. Apparently he’d misjudged.
Scooping up the papers he’d been writing on, he hid them away in his pocket like tucking his heart back inside his chest.
A stack of files dropped unceremoniously on the table beside his elbow with a loud thump. He winced and glared up into Bellona’s grim face. “What are these?”
“Courtemanche says you’re required to choose a replacement today.
Says these are the top ten skilled soldiers.
Some officers, some enlisted, but they’re all extremely useful in some way.
He says you need to decide quickly. We have to train them up in a few weeks so we can get back out there while things settle down for the winter.
The Germans are getting awful quiet. That’s not good. ”
“It never is.” Elliot sighed, grinding his palms into his closed eyelids. This was too soon. He didn’t want to choose someone new, didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else. “Right. A replacement.”
He ran his thumb along the edge of the file on top, gaze unfocused.
“Captain?”
“Yes?”
“You’ll need to open it unless you’ve developed a new skill I’ve not been made aware of.”
Elliot narrowed his eyes at her. “Terribly clever. Go do something useful instead of pestering me.”
Bellona patted his shoulder affectionately and left the room. Silence rang once again.
The throbbing in his head increased as he leafed through the first six files. There wasn’t anything wrong with them as choices, but they weren’t Swift.
He pushed them to the side and opened the next.
Name: Warren Thomas Sullivan
Elliot’s heart skipped a beat. He shoved the irrational reaction aside. Warren wasn’t as common a name as John, but it certainly wasn’t rare. He continued to skim the page.
Next of kin: Anne Margaret Doyle (cousin)
Elliot’s brows shot up. Now what were the odds of that? Another Warren with a cousin Anne who happened to be skilled? They must be low. Mustn’t they?
It couldn’t be.
But what if…?
He dove into the file, pouring over every detail, skimming until he came across irrefutable proof.
Corporal Sullivan had been unconscious for his first six days at the front, condition undiagnosed, status recovered.
This was without a doubt his Warren. His Warren .
Right there on paper. The possibility of choosing him dangled over Elliot’s head but he couldn’t make such a decision on the impulse to see a former lover, no matter how many dreams they shared.
No matter how much Elliot longed to shift those encounters into the waking world.
To explain himself and hopefully earn forgiveness for the trespass.
This was life and death for all of them, he had to make the best choice, not the one he selfishly wanted.
Elliot read on.
At the end, he came to several conclusions: Warren had been taking every opportunity to put himself in harm’s way, to get between German bullets and Entente troops.
He’d been putting himself at risk, going out with stretcher bearers to aid in concealing them from German snipers.
He’d done enough to earn not one, but two promotions in such a short span of time.
The file indicated that Warren was dedicated, so much so that he had to be ordered to retire most nights, half-asleep on his feet when it became apparent he was a danger to himself.
Elliot’s stomach twisted over the idea that someone else he cared for was prepared to sacrifice himself on the altar of altruism.
He closed Warren’s file and breathed deeply through his nose, attempting to be rational.
To make a proper decision. After a few moments, he sifted through the rest of the files, carefully weighing the options.
He narrowed it down to four including Warren, and three others he’d never met.
Staring at the cover page of each file, he tried not to let the longing in his chest pull him in the direction his heart so desperately wanted to lead.
He tried not to think about Warren’s words, “ And how much worse could it have been if it was someone who didn’t give a goddamn shite about them? ”
Did Warren’s commanding officers ‘give a goddamn shite’ about him?
What if they didn’t? He was working with regular troops for the most part.
His commanding officers were not skilled and might not even truly understand what magic entailed.
The general public still didn’t believe in magic, and if they did, it was the devil’s work.
Governments, those who made it their business to know, had generally left the skilled unbothered in recent times, until the war made them decide they needed an advantage.
Had Warren’s superiors been educated at all on the skilled?
If not, they were probably prejudiced at worst, unaware of his needs at best. What if they were indifferent to his safety?
Concern gnashed at Elliot’s gut. He massaged the bridge of his nose and forced out a sharp huff.
It wasn’t fair to let that make his choice.
Since when is anything in this godforsaken war fair? It never was and never will be.
Warren was qualified. Skilled. Useful. Elliot knew he’d fit in.
He attempted to convince himself those were the only reasons he placed him above the others.
Clenching his jaw, Elliot resigned himself to self-recrimination at some future date.
Guilt could wait it’s damned turn. The man he loved was in desperate need of saving.
Whether it was decent or not to have fallen in love with a part of Warren that no one else could see, he’d gone and done it. He couldn’t stop himself.
He’d have to box up those feelings. It would be so much harder since he’d heard Warren say the words last night.
Elliot had to remember the Warren who loved him wasn’t the one he’d be face to face with soon.
In the waking world, life would’ve left defensive wounds on him, he would have different ways of interacting, processing.
He wouldn’t be entirely the same, not at a surface level.
If Elliot was any kind of moral person, he’d confess to dreamwalking immediately and then create distance between them. He would be Warren’s commanding officer. He ought to act like it and be proper. For once in his life he could do the right thing, the good thing.