Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

10 September 2030

07:09 QCT

Of the three rough drafts presented to the Imperial Guard yesterday morning, they said mine was the most thorough, detailed, and precise. The General, the five Colonels, Levi, and Keira were all impressed with my work. Thus, my tactical plans will be used in the so-called "Battle of the Beast" occurring on Friday, following some revisions from every officer.

Fuck my life.

Believe me, I was proud to be recognized as I was yesterday. It's not every day that Gill or, hell, any one of the other Colonels voices their congratulations to me. These blueprints lying before me now were a result of pain-staking tracing and drawing, something I do not do often, if ever. I have never run back-and-forth between the archives so much, trying to make sure all my details were in line with Queen's City. An accomplishment such as this is an incredible honor. I cannot name another time within my tenure as Captain where I was so humbled by my superiors.

As gratifying as that is, there looms a fatal truth. My stratagem could be the sole reason that young Imperial Guard members die. That risk always hides amongst the brilliance of any plan. On one hand, my proposal could be a wild success, and the Imperial Guard defeats this beast. We throw a celebration and I get a big kiss on the cheek from a beautiful woman with a name I wouldn't care to remember.

On the other hand, I might be responsible for the deaths of hundreds. The beast shreds the city to its bones and civilians lose their lives because of my miscalculations.

Having this kind of power is a tremendous gamble.

General Hamilton instructed the officers to start lining up troops into certain positions on my map. The procedure is to take the new classes and set them into specific locations for the assault. Ideally, we want to assign entire classes to one location so that there is plenty of firepower and backup from that spot. Other strategies presented yesterday included every guard being spread out from the rest of their class. I couldn't help but presume that any one soldier isolating themselves is a casualty waiting to happen.

Gill also said that our assignments must be derived from all active classes, from 10 to 30. All non-commissioned members of the Imperial Guard are expected to be placed on the grid somewhere. Had that second criterion not been included, it is possible that Keira and Major Talbot would have to participate in the battle while I spectate from afar. I don't know if I could allow that to happen.

The first criterion strikes me as yet another headache. Having to assign young guards, some of which aren't yet classified as adults, to positions that may lead to their demise goes against everything I stand for. I wasn't tortured in an underground Medo prison for the first five years of my Imperial Guard career just so I could send more kids to die. In a situation such as this, where our enemy is as known to us as the ocean beyond, having fresh recruits come off the ranking and be expected to perform at their highest potential is a shot in the dark. Just ask the Master Sergeant who entrusted Class 0 with the West Forest case.

I voiced this concern to Gill after the meeting yesterday on personal terms. He is well aware of how I feel about this, and he understands the sentiment. In the same breath, he informed me that it is of utmost importance that I give the new classes assignments. He dismissed the matter as a "learning opportunity." Before I could contest, he requested that I put my mind first and my heart second, and sent me on my way.

Which leads me to today, three days from the defense of Queen's City. I sit at my desk in my home study, where I have been staring at my blueprints for about an hour. My pencil beats against the papers obstructed by my arm. I rest my head in my other hand.

I have not made a single refinement to my plans. The city streets of Woodrow in the northeast remain blank aside from where the assignments will be set in various locations. How do I pick one class for a more vulnerable position over another? Every time I go to make a note for a class to be designated for a spot on the map, I retract my pencil from the paper.

The second draft meeting is tonight after dinnertime. I know I will eventually have to do something, but I'm going to hold out as long as possible until that time comes.

My new strategy is to start from the oldest class, 10, and descend from there. That way, I will have to assign Class 30 last. In reality, I want to base my decisions for the other groups on where I put 30, so the choice is painful. Either I ensure the safety of the youngest class and put the others in danger or position everyone in a fair manner, depending on their skill or experience.

Mind first, heart second. But how could I?

Slater and his friends in Class 30 lay on my mind like a brick. They are what keep me from making any kind of advance on my plans. They will have to be put somewhere on the board. Sergeant Larsson will receive orders from Petry Thursday evening for their assignments and prepare for the morning ahead. Where to place them is the question; if only I knew where the beast was coming from.

The last thing I want is for any harm to come to Slater or any of his classmates.

"Oh, Dad, I didn't know you were still here."

I spin in my chair to the door of my study. Celestine stands between the frame with her backpack slung over one of her shoulders. She maintains a straight face while scanning me and my desk.

"Yeah, I've just got some work to do." I lean back in my chair, thumping the pencil against my hand. "You off to school?"

"In a little bit. My teacher doesn't really care if I'm late for class, so I just kinda take my time."

"I would rather you be on time for class than be late. I'm sure your teacher would appreciate it, too."

She eases into the room and presses her backpack against the opposite wall. "What are you working on?"

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I glance at the array of pages strewn about my desk, the lines for streets and monuments indicated in their respective locations in the city. Nothing else besides circles where I pain myself to write numbers for a doomed class of Imperial Guard soldiers.

I turn to her with a light shrug. "Just some operation we're doing. There's a lot for me to assess. A lot of different factors."

"An operation for what? Can I see it?"

Since Celestine was born, I refrained from disclosing information that could upset or harm her. As time went on, I made an effort to explain to her the circumstances of my job and my experiences as a young guard. Seeing what Slater went through, being told that his father was missing rather than deceased, I wanted to be transparent with only the most important things. I wouldn't tell her something she doesn't have to know.

Does this fall under that category? What if I don't tell her and she learns of my involvement? But what if I do tell her and she panics?

"Well, it's nothing now," I lie, gesturing over the blueprints, "but it's for an operation in the city within the next week. As of right now, it's classified, so there's really nothing else I can say about it."

"That's cool. It's in the city, like downtown? What are you guys doing?"

"Yeah, downtown. But like I said, I can't say anything about it. General Hamilton would get pretty mad at me if I shared this with anyone."

She scoffs. "Not even me? Come on, who would I tell? I'm great at keeping secrets."

I hesitate, tapping the pink eraser of my pencil on the desk. "Trust me, if I could tell you, I would."

"Fine, be like that, then." She tucks her hands under her arms. "How's Slater doing? Have you talked to him?"

"Not since Sunday night; he visited me a little bit after curfew to address something."

"Address what? Is he okay?"

"Uh," I begin, guiding my eyes to the ground. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Celestine presses off the wall, gripping the strap of her backpack. "He's not still upset about that whole thing with Craig, is he?"

My gaze drifts to her for a moment as I consider my words. "No, it's something else. It was Imperial Guard related."

"You're such a terrible liar," she groans.

"What are you talking about? I didn't lie, Celeste. Slater came to me for something about his job at the Imperial Guard and that was it. Now we're in the process of working through it."

She points her eyes at me. "Can you say what that is, or is that classified, too? Because either you tell me or he tells me."

"I'm worried that if I tell you, you'll freak out. So no."

"So it's not classified, but you're just not going to tell me."

I swivel my chair to face my desk again. "Yep."

"Well, if something happens to Slater, I'll remember this."

"If I say it pertains to the Medo, does that answer your question?"

"No shit," she comments. "I would be surprised if it wasn't about the Medo. Look, Dad, Slater's my friend too. I just want to make sure he's okay and you're making it sound like he's in danger. Please just tell me what's going on."

I huff and turn back around. Celestine stands a few feet away, glaring at me.

"I don't want him to be in danger either but he is. He tipped the Imperial Guard about the Medo planning an assault on the city. They're sending a monster into town and we're expected to take it down, though we have no idea how to, and we only have a few days to devise our plans. As for Slater," I ponder, "I don't know. I haven't spoken to him since then."

"A monster? What kind of monster?"

I exhale, poking my leg with the pencil's eraser. "I don't know. We don't know much. I'm hoping Slater does, but no one has asked him."

Celestine tears her glare from me and diverts it to the window. The orange-painted blinds allow only some sunlight to trickle through. "He's going to be okay, right?"

His safety is in my hands, as is the safety of every other Imperial Guard member I will assign to a position on the map. Other officers will have a hand in where they will place their troops, but us Queens' City officers must pick and choose where the classes under our control will go. If Gill and James prefer my plans to my colleagues, then the positions of the classes will be my doing. I can be the reason Slater lives or perishes.

I would rather him not die, that is understandable, but there is too much that we do not know in order to ensure that. The Medo will make sure that the beast hunts him down, judging by the deal he made with their leader, Rodney Roarke. Something deep within me gnaws, warning me that no matter where I place him, he will never be safe. But it is a decision that I must make.

I clear my throat, watching my pencil knock against my knee. "I don't know. I have no way of telling how this is going to go."

"He's not going to get hurt, is he?"

"He might. I can't promise that he won't." I peer at her as she locks her eyes on the window. "If I had any means of knowing what was going to happen, I would tell you, but I don't."

"And you weren't going to tell me?" Her feet fidget beneath her and she loosens her grip on her backpack. "You were just going to keep this yourself?"

"I didn't want you to worry," I insist.

Celestine turns to me and throws her hands out in front of her in disbelief. "So, was I supposed to find out when I hear that Slater or one of my other friends are killed? Dad, these are my friends; how can you not tell me that they might be in danger?"

"Celeste, the reason I haven't said anything is, one, I just heard about this on Sunday myself, and two, I have no idea what to expect. But considering we know next to nothing about this beast, I would say our outlook isn't all that great."

"Please tell me they'll be safe."

I pause a moment before shaking my head. "I cannot say anything for sure. I have some very tough decisions to make, and I have to be fair about it. Believe me, I want them to be safe just as much as you do, but that's not a promise that I can keep."

"What about you?" Her voice cracks at the end of the question. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm assigned to HQ for the day. I won't go to the battle unless I have to."

She shatters, and any tears she kept hidden spring onto her face. Her shoulders shiver as she struggles to equip her backpack. She shields her eyes from me.

"Celeste," I mutter, rising to my feet, "it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay." I draw her into me, holding her head against my chest.

She sobs with her arms down at her sides. Her backpack begins to slip off her sweatshirt. "I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

I soothe her with a hush, landing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I'm going to be okay. I promise. You don't have to worry about me."

"Just make sure Slater and Hal and CJ make it out okay." Celestine inhales and releases a choppy breath. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to them."

"I promise, I will," I assure. "I'll do whatever I can."

As I embrace her, everything swarms into perspective. My daughter has friends that could be killed on Friday. My sixteen-year-old daughter. These new kids we bring into the Imperial Guard get younger and younger every year. Kids that, if I do not make the right choices, could be murdered by an interdimensional creature who was unbeknownst to us last week.

I do understand the dilemma that befalls the Imperial Guard. One way or another, the fresh, new class will have to be assigned to a post whether I like it or not. But it's my duty as Slater's guardian that I ensure his safety at all costs. Do I sacrifice the well-being of an older class just so Slater and his friends can survive this turmoil? Or is he fucked either way?

If I know one thing, it's this: I have persevered through difficult periods in my life and I am still standing in the year 2030. But what I am faced with today and the rest of the week may just be the most dreadful challenge I have ever encountered.