“...only one possessed of that most dangerous of disqualifications, an amateur’s half-knowledge, would suggest that statesmen, innocent of all military training, are capable of understanding the complexities of the armies now characteristic of national conflict. So to, only such amateurs would suggest that one man alone, no matter their military acumen, can organize the thousand requirements, small and large, of such forces without the extraordinary genius present in mankind only once every score of years.
As such, the delegation of responsibility and the adequately structured command, united under the common will of the most able, are of the utmost importance to the wellbeing of bodies of men in the field. Alongside this, contrary to the claims of previous great leaders of men, in the confusing fog of warfare, one must on occasion improvise the deployment of thousands. This necessity of coordinated improvisation necessitates communication not present with our earthly means, but can be substituted by a combined understanding and training. The army must be as the orchestra: able to follow the instructions of the plans and the leader, but willing and prepared to deviate for the good of the operation.
It is for such purposes the unified curriculum of the Academy is paramount, changing with times yet uniform across officers, to the enduring ability of intermediate leadership to perform its rightful role...”
-Fairfax, Amolia. Proposal for the Establishment of the Army Academy of Venbrad, pg.5, penned 14th Midwinter, 1799.
------------------------------------------------------------
The halls of the Royal Palace of Baderven, snaking and tall and paved with marble and ivory, were nearly empty. They always were, after the rebellion. Built for sniveling courtiers to live lives of opulence, courtiers replaced now with the conniving politicals who resembled their forebears in every way but the now-revoked titles, the corridors were silent after dark. Amolia had learned to ignore the waste of resources, reminding herself of the symbolism commoners found so appealing. At least they didn’t have to heat the whole palace anymore.
Her boots rang through the corridors with a crisp staccato, her pace characteristically confident and rapid. Even with the moon crawling its way languorously into the sky, there was no reason to waste time. General Amolia Fairfax does not move when not required, and she does not keep her requirements waiting.
She rapped thrice at a door, ignoring the pair of guards in their ceremonial black-and-navy, their weapons resting casually at their sides, knowing full well her identity. Only one woman is or has been permitted the epaulets of Marshal.
“Come in”
The voice was reedy and weak. The symptoms of a cold fast passing, Amolia assumed. She entered the royal bedchamber, the young form of her monarch huddled beneath furs and blankets feet thick. He’d fallen ill a few days ago, and was well on his way to recovery, but his stamina had not recovered, and his tone of solemn command had not restored itself.
In body, they were entirely different. She, of moderate height for a woman, he tall for a man. She, scarred and blemished, he unmarked and handsome. Her hair, a fading orange, his a vibrant chestnut. In mind, they were quite similar, at least in disposition. Amolia frequently reminded herself she could have had a far worse ruler.
“I have the papers you asked for, my King. The engineers say they are making good headway: we should have the model ready next month”
He placed a sheaf of papers to one side, and accepted her offered few. Designs for a new musket, more accurate, or so the designers claim. As content as she was with her King, his youth and inexperience were evident: A dangerous in a supreme ruler, but changeable with time. Twenty is a young age for those unused to responsibility.
“This is excellent Marshal, truly excellent. And this will be ready for-“
“One must not pin operational hope on the products of engineers, my King.” She corrected him politely, and he accepted her wisdom graciously. “We will be ready with or without this new model, if it will indeed be worthwhile at all”.
“Then you have finished the plans? You are really going to do it?” His eyes filled with that common emotion, that intriguing mix of fear and admiration that makes men follow without question.
“We will do it. You will lead Venbrad on its ascent, not I” A falsehood they both understood, but the words had to be said, for both their benefit. “I have the final draft here."
The sickly king accepted the document, the ink barely dry from her copying scant minutes ago. With a bow, Amolia exited, the customary salute elicited from the Lifeguards at the door. She strode away, to her quarters and to her welcoming bed, stifling a yawn as she went. The King read the papers eagerly, a knot tying and untying itself in his stomach with every line, fear and anticipation gripping him in equal measure as he made repeated glances back to the title of the packet.
"Strategic Aims and Operational Procedure in the War for Venbradian Sovereignty, 11th of First Harvest..."
A smile formed on Fairfax's face as she quit the palace, her fatigue marred at the edges with frantic adrenaline. Her debut on the grandest stage of world history would begin shortly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As such, the delegation of responsibility and the adequately structured command, united under the common will of the most able, are of the utmost importance to the wellbeing of bodies of men in the field. Alongside this, contrary to the claims of previous great leaders of men, in the confusing fog of warfare, one must on occasion improvise the deployment of thousands. This necessity of coordinated improvisation necessitates communication not present with our earthly means, but can be substituted by a combined understanding and training. The army must be as the orchestra: able to follow the instructions of the plans and the leader, but willing and prepared to deviate for the good of the operation.
It is for such purposes the unified curriculum of the Academy is paramount, changing with times yet uniform across officers, to the enduring ability of intermediate leadership to perform its rightful role...”
-Fairfax, Amolia. Proposal for the Establishment of the Army Academy of Venbrad, pg.5, penned 14th Midwinter, 1799.
------------------------------------------------------------
The halls of the Royal Palace of Baderven, snaking and tall and paved with marble and ivory, were nearly empty. They always were, after the rebellion. Built for sniveling courtiers to live lives of opulence, courtiers replaced now with the conniving politicals who resembled their forebears in every way but the now-revoked titles, the corridors were silent after dark. Amolia had learned to ignore the waste of resources, reminding herself of the symbolism commoners found so appealing. At least they didn’t have to heat the whole palace anymore.
Her boots rang through the corridors with a crisp staccato, her pace characteristically confident and rapid. Even with the moon crawling its way languorously into the sky, there was no reason to waste time. General Amolia Fairfax does not move when not required, and she does not keep her requirements waiting.
She rapped thrice at a door, ignoring the pair of guards in their ceremonial black-and-navy, their weapons resting casually at their sides, knowing full well her identity. Only one woman is or has been permitted the epaulets of Marshal.
“Come in”
The voice was reedy and weak. The symptoms of a cold fast passing, Amolia assumed. She entered the royal bedchamber, the young form of her monarch huddled beneath furs and blankets feet thick. He’d fallen ill a few days ago, and was well on his way to recovery, but his stamina had not recovered, and his tone of solemn command had not restored itself.
In body, they were entirely different. She, of moderate height for a woman, he tall for a man. She, scarred and blemished, he unmarked and handsome. Her hair, a fading orange, his a vibrant chestnut. In mind, they were quite similar, at least in disposition. Amolia frequently reminded herself she could have had a far worse ruler.
“I have the papers you asked for, my King. The engineers say they are making good headway: we should have the model ready next month”
He placed a sheaf of papers to one side, and accepted her offered few. Designs for a new musket, more accurate, or so the designers claim. As content as she was with her King, his youth and inexperience were evident: A dangerous in a supreme ruler, but changeable with time. Twenty is a young age for those unused to responsibility.
“This is excellent Marshal, truly excellent. And this will be ready for-“
“One must not pin operational hope on the products of engineers, my King.” She corrected him politely, and he accepted her wisdom graciously. “We will be ready with or without this new model, if it will indeed be worthwhile at all”.
“Then you have finished the plans? You are really going to do it?” His eyes filled with that common emotion, that intriguing mix of fear and admiration that makes men follow without question.
“We will do it. You will lead Venbrad on its ascent, not I” A falsehood they both understood, but the words had to be said, for both their benefit. “I have the final draft here."
The sickly king accepted the document, the ink barely dry from her copying scant minutes ago. With a bow, Amolia exited, the customary salute elicited from the Lifeguards at the door. She strode away, to her quarters and to her welcoming bed, stifling a yawn as she went. The King read the papers eagerly, a knot tying and untying itself in his stomach with every line, fear and anticipation gripping him in equal measure as he made repeated glances back to the title of the packet.
"Strategic Aims and Operational Procedure in the War for Venbradian Sovereignty, 11th of First Harvest..."
A smile formed on Fairfax's face as she quit the palace, her fatigue marred at the edges with frantic adrenaline. Her debut on the grandest stage of world history would begin shortly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
