It wasn't what Root would have imagined either. They were in adjoining beds in one of the cabins of the hospital car. Normally you wouldn't put male and female patients together, but it was easier to keep guard of them this way. There was a risk of enemy agents having infiltrated the train and also fears that the crew might try to take them hostage to use as leverage against the hijackers. Needless to say, the past couple weeks had been rather stressful.

Speaking of stresses, Root found himself once again staring at the dip in the bedsheet that served to remind him of his missing leg. The wound had gotten infected and the train's doctor told him that the only chance of saving his leg was to get off the train and seek treatment at a properly equipped hospital. He decided his leg wasn't worth falling into the Malvinans' hands. The one comfort was that the doctor was able to amputate below the knee. As he understood it, amputations weren't nearly as bad if they could save the joint. That was something.

As for Anne, that back-alley doctor's treatment saved her life and under the supervision of the train's doctor, she pulled through the worst of it. That being said, the damage to her lung meant the end of her athletic career. As if she needed anything else to bring her down.

As she stared up at the ceiling, she said, "It's all my fault. It's my fault she's dead..."

Her face was blank and her voice lifeless. The only sign of emotion was the tears trickling down. It seemed to be an effect of the painkillers she was on. That quip from a moment ago was one of the few times of her showing any sign of being the Anne he knew.

Another apparent side effect of the painkillers was that she seemed to forget things, have the same conversation multiple times. Maybe it was just nerves. She was by no means a weak girl, neither physically nor mentally, but she wasn't at all equipped for what she had been through.

Not for the first time, Root told her, "You weren't the one who pulled that trigger, Anne."

Again, not for the first time—which didn't make it any easier—, Root told her, "Yeah, I do."

Back when he was in the Legion, there was a revolt against the Byrandian occupation and his unit was deployed to rescue some besieged Colos. His position was overrun and he narrowly managed to retreat to a cave with his spotter Jameel. They were both wounded, but Jameel had it worse and he knew what they'd do to him if they got their hands on him. It wouldn't be pretty and it wouldn't be quick. As terrified as he was of that, he was even more terrified of damning his eternal soul by taking his own life—as that was one of the beliefs of his religion—, and so he begged Root to do him in. Root refused at first, but once they were found, Jameel's pleas became all the more desperate and with their ammo running low, Root used one of his last bullets to spare Jameel what his countrymen would've had planned for him.

It was only as Root was about to put a bullet in his own brain that the rebels were driven off by a renewed push from Third Company. If only he had held out ten minutes longer, Jameel would've still been alive. Even if he begged for it, you could still tell he was afraid when he closed his eyes before Root pulled the trigger. Somehow in the intervening years, his thoughts of Azuki eclipsed poor Jameel, but Root would still think of him from time to time, more often now that he was having to recall the story several times over.

He didn't have to get into the details this time as Anne had a moment of lucidity, muttering, "Oh, that's right... I'm sorry, Root. I'm so, so sorry..."

Root reached over and held her hand, telling her, "You're not helpin' anyone thinkin' like that. You wanna honor the dead? You wanna do right by 'em? You keep on livin'. You live their part. That's the best you can do for 'em."

Anne didn't look entirely convinced—Root wasn't sure he believed it himself—, but he got her to quiet down for a while. Another time he pledged to go back with her once the war was over to find the place where they buried Miss Duveau so they could bring her back home. That was a more tangible way they could honor the dead and it seemed to have some effect.

There was a knock on the door and Lapin's voice could be heard on the other side.

The door opened and Lapin stood in the narrow space between the two beds.

Root knew that everyone's nerves weren't likely to hold up if they continued their hijacking for the month it would take to get back to Saintcharles, so he proposed that they contact the Byrandian embassy in Kartkasi and offer to surrender themselves to the custody of the ambassador. How easy it would be to get back to Byrandia from there was uncertain. There was sure to be fighting in Ebonia and then there were Byrandia's hostile southern neighbors to contend with. It was possible that they would have to ride out the war here in Kasshu. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than rushing headlong into an active warzone.

'Hectic' was putting it mildly. Even after all these years, Root's body still remembered how to catch what rest it could. Even five or ten minutes here and there could be enough to keep you going.

It was probably Root's age catching up to him, but he actually fell into a deeper sleep than he was intending. It took a hand gently shaking his shoulder to wake him up. He opened his eyes to see Azuki crouched down beside him. He felt guilty for it, but he couldn't deny thinking how much he liked having her be the first thing he saw when he woke up.

Azuki generally stayed in the room with Root and Anne in her mouse form or as some other small animal, tucked away in some corner to watch over them. Root made sure there was a simple frock dress for her whenever she would return to her human form, but she didn't don it first before waking him. Not that he minded, Anne either for that matter, but still, he didn't necessarily want anyone else getting an eyeful of her. He didn't have any right to feel possessive of her, but a man's nature is what it is.

The frock dress was easy to don and doff, which is why Root picked it for her. Not long after she got dressed, Sir Willem arrived with stretchers to bear Root and Anne off the train. Their group assembled from fore and aft. The tension in the air was palpable, but so far everyone was keeping their cool. Their efforts for a peaceful resolution would be shot if any of the former hostages made a go at the hijackers.

Once outside, they found themselves on a wide, open-air platform. Waiting for them was a platoon of Byrandian Marine Fusiliers and about twice as many armed Kasshians. Lapin took the lead by holding up his pistol, hanging it upside-down by the trigger guard with his thumb. The others who were armed did likewise. They then slowly placed their weapons on the ground and stepped away from them, keeping their hands in the air. The rest of them who weren't armed also held up their hands.

A young Royal Navy officer stepped forward and looked at Root, saying, "Colonel Maartens?"

Root would've expected the Fusiliers' platoon leader to be the one in charge, not an officer of a warship. It could be that these Fusiliers were part of the warship's complement rather than the embassy's guards and that warship was taking custody of them. Root was trying to remember what kind of ship the Fearless was supposed to be.

Several Fusiliers then broke from their formation to handcuff the members of Root's group and frisk them for any additional weapons.

Root was a little concerned some of the group's members would take offense to this, so he told them, "Everyone behave and cooperate with these fine gentlemen. We don't want any trouble." He looked particularly to Captain Tsai. "Isn't that right, Frau Kapitän?"

Captain Tsai gave him an annoyed look before telling her subordinates, "You heard the man. Bear it for the time being." To Lieutenant Duchard, she said, "I will be expecting a formal apology from you and your superior officer later."

For the Fusiliers' part, they appeared to be going about their task as professionals ought. And while Root was more concerned about how the Imperials would act, he was not expecting Sir Willem to forget himself when Anne's turn came up.

Sir Willem's outburst got some rifles pointed his way, but he managed to restrain himself before the situation could take a turn for the worse. Other than that, the lot of them were handcuffed without incident. They were lined up in double file and the Fusiliers formed around them. They were then escorted out of the station and loaded into a truck waiting for them.

Once the flap of the canopy was closed and they were safely out of view, Lieutenant Duchard gave a hand signal and the Fusiliers removed their handcuffs.

Root motioned to Captain Tsai and said, "Kapitän zur Raum Tsai Nali of His Imperial Majesty's Navy. These Imperials tend to be a bit particular about how they're handled, even if it's to save their skins."

Lieutenant Duchard had clearly never had to deal with the Imperials before, but he did at least seem to appreciate what a big deal they were. Looking rather awkward, he straightened himself up, and bowed his head slightly, saying, "I, ah, on behalf of His Majesty's Royal Navy, ah, allow me to offer my apologies for the treatment of you and your men. It... it was necessary to secure your safe passage and avoid further diplomatic incident."

Trying to sound aloof, Captain Tsai replied, "I suppose we can leave it at that for now. Consider your apology accepted, Lieutenant."

With that settled, Lieutenant Duchard then asked Root, "Is it true then, Colonel? You all are the survivors of the Junker Jorg?"

The news didn't come as particularly shocking to Root. It was either that or detain the ship and her crew. If the real target was the diplomatic party, destroying the Junker Jorg would buy the Malvinans time. The fact that they were here now was just proof that the Malvinans were outmaneuvered by Second Bureau. If Byrandian intelligence had come up any shorter, everything might have gone exactly according to plan.

Root didn't need to ask, but he did anyway.

Root figured as much.

So the Malvinans sowed the wind and were reaping the whirlwind. Damn shame ordinary folks had to get caught up in it, but name a war where that wasn't the case. If the North was advancing so quickly, maybe the South would give in sooner rather than later.

"Out east, we're tied up fighting the Tungees in Soochian while the Slannies and Gandees are deadlocked around the border. The way I hear it, those yellow bastards are just throwing meat in the grinder."

Lieutenant Duchard stopped and looked somewhat self-consciously at Captain Tsai, Azuki and Lieutenant Lee. True, they were not Tungese and therefore the insult was not directed at them, but there were plenty of people who would lump all Orientals together. Possibly Lieutenant Duchard was one such person.

He laughed uncomfortably, probably trying to deflect from his earlier comment with the lame joke. If any offense had been taken, that wasn't going to fix it.

Besides the possibility of the Lord Admiral losing his patience and burning the whole planet to a cinder, the outcome of the war was pretty much a foregone conclusion before it even started. If there had been no Imperial interference, things might have been different, but as it stood, it was only going to take a little more of a push to break what remained of the Coalition's will to fight. Once that was done, it was just a matter of picking up the pieces and moving ahead with their dubious future as citizens of the Empire.

They didn't talk much more after that. Root lost track of the time and may have nodded off once or twice before the truck came to a stop.

They unloaded out of the truck to a dusty airfield. A Royal Navy aircruiser was there. Root wasn't well versed enough to recognize the ship class.

Far be it for him to question King Charles' judgment, but Root was questioning King Charles' judgment. He could only hope this Junker Jorg was not so ill-fated as the last one.