His gaze slowly went over the desk, at the myriads of letters he had received over his trip to the Silent Fields. He reached from a sealed enveloped with his name and opened it. As he started reading, tears slowly fell down his cheeks.
“You are a more than capable commander. You have the makings to surpass me, and even Sieur Dorian, in the Gendarmerie Nationale. Let this letter stand as my recommendation for your commission.”
The man who died for him, for the success of his mission, recommending him for promotion. How could he believe in himself after the mistakes he had made in his first mission? One man had given his life, and only his sacrifice had made it possible for his mission to be somewhat successful. While everyone seemed to think he had done great work and his mission was a success, deep down he knew he had failed, failed to protect his people. He knew he would use this letter, use it to gain his commission and be an officer. But his status would be built on a dead man’s sacrifice. And he’d have a debt to pay.
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“The Gendarmerie Nationale writes to express their deepest regret that your nephew, Caporal Marcel de Renault was killed in action on the twenty-eight day of August, 777 in the performance of his duty and service to the République. His remains were unable to be recovered. Please accept the Gendarmerie's most heartfelt sympathies.”
His hand was shacking as he signed the letter, right under his friend’s signature. He knew his death was his fault. He’s the one that lead them in that direction, right into Falkovnia. And Marcel had done what he hadn’t been able to do on the moment. Give his life for the rest of them to live. He could still hear the determination in his voice, his conviction as the bomb was thrown, the heat at the explosion. The screams of the horses, the smell of the burning flesh. Those would haunt his dreams for many weeks, he knew it. And he’d have to live with the guilt for years.
