Sajani Tails

      It was a former Vharkylia Army private named Chass who brought the news. For now she still thought of them by their old ranks, since it helped break them down into smaller groups. He was a huge wolf, towering a good amount above her with shoulders that were broad, even for his size. His fur was gray and white. The glasses he wore made his eyes seem tiny and out of place. “Lady Sajani,” he said quickly as he poked in through the doorway. “Refugees are trying to enter the city’s north gate. Rhidayar troops are blocking them.”

      “Blocking them?” Tess asked.

      “Did you happen to hear why?” Sajani asked.

      “Something about a plague,” he answered.

      Sajani turned to Tess and said: “Have Doc Cutter meet me at the gate.” She grabbed Chass by the arm and pulled him along with her. “Let’s go.” As she was leaving, she called over her shoulder: “Make sure Ambassador Ghenis knows about this.”

      It was fairly early in the morning as they walked out the inn and into the waking city. She had to dodge a few delivery vans and ignore the street vendors who tried to accost them. It didn’t take long to get to the gate. Getting through the gate, however, would be an issue. Xahusha wasn’t a walled city. Its outermost buildings mostly faced inward and modern roads only accessed the interior through specific areas. So the city’s six gates, or main entries, were not areas where people could normally congregate.

      Today the area was flooded with people and soldiers. It was a good thing she brought Chass with her. “Step aside!” he roared to the mass before them. “Official business!” No one questioned him, even though they obviously weren’t natives. One man turned to face them with an irate look on his face, but his eyes only came to the center of the big wolf’s chest. He looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

      To her astonishment, Chass apologized. “Sorry sir,” he said politely, “But Lady Sajani is trying to get to the refugees.”

      The man stepped aside, and she could hear him whisper her name. The name was able to travel faster than they could and soon people were tripping over each other trying to catch a glimpse of her as she passed. At first it slowed their progress, but soon the current of bodies shifted, and they found a path opened for them all the way to where she could see soldiers standing guard.

      They walked up to the nearest one, a woman in a brown and red uniform, and Sajani asked politely, “May I pass?”

      The soldier was still elevating her gaze to look up at Chass. “I… I…” she began, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but none are allowed through.”

      “I understand,” Sajani said fairly. “Are there vykati among the refugees?”

      “A few ma’am,” the soldier said a little more firmly. She was apparently relieved Chass wasn’t there to challenge her.

      “What’s this about a plague?”

      “Not sure about that, ma’am,” she responded. “I haven’t heard anything about a plague.”

      “May I speak to your duty officer?” Sajani asked politely. “I’m here from the Vharkylia embassy.”

      “I can’t leave my post ma’am, but I’ll pass the message along.” She motioned to a man who was standing about 20 meters away. Sajani recognized the large stripes on his sleeve. He was a buck sergeant.

      He looked somewhat distracted and bored as he started to approach. When he caught sight of Chass he slowed a bit and looked more interested. Once he was closer still, he saw Sajani for the first time. He stopped for a moment and rubbed his thin mustaches twice. Apparently satisfied she was whom he thought she was, he picked up his pace, bowing deeply once he was before them. “Lady General Sajani,” he said in a courtly voice. “I hope Private Ladaher isn’t giving you any trouble.”

      “Not at all,” Sajani said offhandedly. “She’s holding her post very professionally. I was just asking to meet with your duty officer.”

      “That’d be Lieutenant Darlay, ma’am,” he said rising from his bow, “but if you’re looking to pass the line, you’ll be wanting to talk to Major Fagen. She’s the one in charge of this operation.”

      “Can you take us to see her?”

      “Of course, my lady.”

      The major wasn’t far. They were taken to a nearby command tent. The sergeant entered first followed by Chass and then Sajani. “Lady General Sajani, Minister of War of the dynast nation of Vharkylia to see you, major,” the sergeant announced. He and Chass stepped to either side of the tent’s entrance as the copper wolf stood forward.

      Most of the world’s armies used a purchased commission structure. Major Fagen was a rather obvious example of the shortcomings of that system. A short dark-skinned woman with black hair, she looked delicate enough to be knocked over if Chass decided to exhale within a meter of her—five meters if he was trying. Even the way she wore her uniform: crisp and almost too well pressed, seemed to speak of her fragileness.

      The expression she wore also spoke volumes to Sajani. The copper wolf never felt she needed to prove her courage, mental fortitude, or intelligence to anyone. In some ways, she had it a little easier, since even those who might question her rank, dared not out of respect for her mother. There were a few who felt she was just riding on her mother’s fame, but that usually abated quickly once they worked with her.

      Major Fagen, however, looked like one who felt the need to prove herself constantly. At a guess, Sajani would say the small woman commissioned in as a major and would probably retire as a major. There was a story to be told in this timid and frightened officer who tried so hard to keep up a tough appearance, but there wouldn’t be time, she was sure, to plumb the depths.

      “I told you not to disturb me!” she shouted at the sergeant.

      “Major, if you don’t want to speak to Lady General Sajani, that’s on you, ma’am,” the sergeant said in a mostly respectful tone, “but I thought it prudent to pass on the message.”

      “I can speak to her now that you’ve brought her,” the major said testily. “I’ll have words with you later, sergeant.”

      The sergeant looked nonplussed and left the tent.

      “What gives you the right to come traipsing in here?” she shouted at Sajani. “This is a Rhidayar military operation. You have no business here, wolf.” The last word was obviously intended as an insult, although even the most hot-blooded vykati wouldn’t sniff sidelong at the moniker. The tone in which it was spoken, however, was a pelt of a different color. All except those with the patience of Benayle would’ve called that a “fighting word.” Sajani wasn’t as patient as Benayle, but she could imitate it in a pinch.

      She caught the look Chass gave her. She had the impression she could say, “Sic her!” and he’d go for her throat like a well-trained Quillain hound. Instead she smiled at the major, mostly for Chass’s sake.

      “I’m here on behalf of the Vharkylia embassy,” she began.

      “Which has no jurisdiction here,” the major interrupted. “This is an internal matter. Guard!”

      Chass turned to face the soldier who just entered. The guard stopped before passing entirely into the tent and looked up at him.

      “Escort these mangy curs from my tent,” the major ordered.

      “Ma’am?” the guard said quizzically. The poor soldier obviously didn’t want any trouble.

      A slow snarl came across Chass’s face. Wolf might not be a derogatory term, but ‘cur’ certainly was pushing things and it looked like ‘mangy cur’ was far past that.

      “Chass…” Sajani started to say but was too late.

      He grabbed the guard by both arms, forcing him to drop his weapon, and lifted him up, staring him in the eyes the whole time. The terrified human said nothing. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Chass said sincerely. The soldier didn’t look convinced. “So I’m going to hit you once hard on the head and you’re going to go unconscious for a bit. Do you understand?” The guard nodded once quickly. Chass clasped the man’s uniform with one hand and slapped him once upside the head. The guard fell carefully to the ground and didn’t move.

      In the meantime, Major Fagen reached for a musket sitting on her desk. Sajani had been about to try and persuade Chass this wasn’t at all in her best interest, when she caught sight of the major raising the weapon at him. She grabbed the shorter woman’s outstretched hand just in time. “I don’t want to have to do this,” she said in her best imitation of Benayle calm, “but I’m allergic to lead and so is Chass.” Sidestepping and simultaneously grabbing under the elbow and thrusting out, she forced the major onto her back, then dropped a knee on her chest to make sure she didn’t go anywhere.

       The major didn’t move, but she did shout, “Guards! Help!”

      The old tailor was waiting for her when she arrived the following day. Saheeba and Bashim were dressed differently than before, in their Jahma finest. She bowed slightly as Sajani entered and her grandson, taking the cue from her, bowed low.

      “Lady Sajani,” the old wolf said with a shaking voice, “I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you. I should have known when Bashim said you looked so much like your mother, and then right after you left all the expatriates in the city were in a frenzy with the news you were performing magic in the streets.”

      Sajani gave a polite little cough to interrupt Saheeba and then motioned for her to rise. The old woman and her grandson stood, still beaming at her. The old wolf motioned to a display dummy nearby where the armor the vykati woman ordered stood in glory. She touched its sleeve and ran a finger down the side. There wasn’t a single blemish on the leather.

      “When the others learned it was for you, they all pitched in,” the old wolf said excitedly. “Alhan the tanner brought a special order of leather, dyed with dyes straight from Yenhel the alchemist. Mr. Merts came by with some silk thread for us, imported from Jzianrhun. And don’t you worry, noble lady, it’s all paid for. Not a one of us would take a cent from you.”

      Sajani continued to stare down at the armor. She just wanted something to get her by until she could afford better. She hadn’t expected this. Lifting it carefully from the display, she looked askance at Saheeba. Bashim caught her unasked question and folded out a curtain for her to change behind.

      The old woman continued, “There’s some gem work on the cuffs, collar, and belt. Those came from ol’ Teng.”

      Sajani gasped when the chest piece changed slightly on its own to fit her.

      “That’d be the work of our local enchanter, Calmar. He’s not a vykati, but he got caught up in our spirit. It’s already fitted exactly to you, but a little magic will go a long way to keep your fur from binding.”

      When Sajani stepped from behind the curtain, she was surprised to see Ambassador Ghenis standing in the doorway. He was holding a long and narrow black box bound by a rust-colored ribbon. He had a smile on his face as he hobbled towards them. A few other vykati whom she didn’t know entered the shop behind him, followed by a very old human.

      Bashim ran up to her, dragging a tall mirror on wheels and she was able to admire the armor. Its background was a deep black with rust-colored highlights. The gem work was done in blues and reds. On the right chest was a symbol she never saw before: a rust wolf’s head silhouette with crossed cannons behind. The banners above and below it read, “I can still hear the cannons.”

      Ambassador Ghenis cleared his throat and held out the box. She opened it to find a saber with a copper guard and a blackened blade. She held it out before her to test its balance, which was perfect, and took a careful swipe to her right to hear it sing.

      She smiled as she struck a swashbuckling pose. A little public facing wouldn’t hurt.

      “Behold the copper wolf, the lady of rust,” Ambassador Ghenis said dramatically. A crowd that formed behind him cheered. Sergeant Tess and the troops were there already. There was food. She wasn’t sure who provided it, but anyone who came up on the street was welcome to it. A group of musicians set up stage just outside the shop and as they started to play, Ambassador Ghenis held out his hand and bowed before her. “May I have the honor, my lady?” he asked.

      He had to lean on her a lot, and he was far from quick on his feet, but there was a certain stiff gracefulness to him that spoke greatly of a younger self. He never stepped on her. “How much did this cost the embassy?” she asked him.

      “Nothing,” he replied. He sounded truthful.

      “You?”

      “Nothing,” he repeated.

      She couldn’t resist casting a little spell. She tried to hide it from him, but apparently, he was too clever for her.

      “Nothing,” he said yet again. “My lady I paid nothing for all this. Not even the sword.” He was looking her right in the eye and had been for the whole dance. She was barely taller than he.

      “Then who?” she asked.

      “Hope,” he said. She was surprised his comment registered as truth.

      “Who’s Hope?” she asked, guessing he was referring to some wealthy citizen.

      Ambassador Ghenis laughed. “You know all about hope, my lady. You’re the one who carries it with you.”

      She scoffed at the diplomatic double talk. “It doesn’t pay the bills. I want to know who I owe. Who paid for all this?”

      “They did.” His eyes swept the expanse of people, vykati and human, who were around them. “And you’ve already repaid them.”

      “Each person donated some…”

      “No, my lady, each person gave of himself.”

      “I owe them something.”

      The ambassador laughed and said, “You’ve paid them already. Your currency is hope. There’re forces in the world, powerful forces, they know are coming their way. You stand between them and those forces, not because you have to, but because you want to, and you turn their despair to hope. They know what your mother accomplished, and they have faith you’ll do even greater things. You may feel indebted to them, but you’ve already paid that debt in full and will continue to overflow their coffers in the days to come.”

      She wanted to respond, but they were both stopped from their dance by Ginger, who had a very serious look on his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said very solemnly. Sajani was worried perhaps there was bad news. She looked around and found Sergeant Tess watching them with a huge smile on her face. “But Sergeant Tess insists I cut in.” He took her by the hands and began dancing.

      Sajani couldn’t stop laughing, neither could Tess and the ambassador. By the time the evening was done, she danced with Tess, Doc Cutter, Ginger, and just about every member of the platoon, as well as, it felt like, half the city. She had no trouble going to sleep that night.

Tuesday 20th May 2003

We left very early in the morning. It was just becoming daylight when we passed into the Iraqi border. The living conditions were poor. True, it is a desert here, so it'd be difficult if not impossible to simply up and build a condo every few miles, but it was obvious people are living literally in ruins.

There’re old adobe walls jutting up from the sand here and there, not always even forming four walls and at times you can tell (from laundry or signs of recent modification), people actually live there. I thought of the last twelve years of sanctions and thought to myself, “Did we do this?”

Shortly after we crossed the border, we started seeing destroyed tanks and troop carriers, all Iraqi. They were completely burned up, and none had left their defensive positions. I know a little bit about their armament versus our weaponry. They died in those positions, or abandoned them. It was more than likely not a noble fight, certainly not a fair one. Again the thought came to me, “Did we do this?”

As further tribute to the poverty of the area, we see children, obviously not in school, standing by the side of the road, holding out their hands and rubbing their stomachs. They are hungry, and want food; food that might have been traded for oil, if their government would have not abused the program; food that would have fed them. They are hungry, and yet I ask myself, “Did we do this?”

Governments are like people, in that sometimes they make wrong choices. Could we have made a mistake in coming here? In enforcing sanctions? In destroying a government? But perhaps our government’s choices were more the result of another government’s poor choices.

As it gets lighter out, I realize there are more and more people along the side of the road—of all ages. Many of them wave, not asking for food, just wanting to see us. They must have walked a ways to even get to the road. Some hold up the sign of victory, or peace, I’m not sure which. The younger they are the more likely they are to do something.

But they are all there, and whether vocal or not, moving or not, they are all obviously there for the same reason. They are there to show their support. I’m not talking about thousands crowding the roads between Kuwait and Baghdad. It’s not that many, but I think it's enough. Did we do this?

Yes we did.

We continued a pattern that's existed for centuries. American blood, it seems, must always be the price of freedom in the world. Iraq is added to the list of countries that owe their freedom to the United States of America in general, and American soldiers specifically. I’m not sure why it’s become that way, but it has.

The reason we went to war here will be debated for centuries to come, I’m sure. Whether we find what we set out to find or not, people will debate if it was the real intent or just the story given to hide ulterior motives that I will not degrade this entry by discussing . I don’t think those people on the side of the road care why we came, and after seeing them, I don’t either. Like them now, I’m just glad we came. They are free. Their future is unsure, peace may be fleeting for them. I don’t know.

But for now, they are free.

Was it too great a price? Was it fought for the right reasons? Did we do more harm than good? Will their poverty continue despite their new-found freedom? I don’t know. All I do know is that Providence has a way of doing great things, even if the reasons are wrong.

Whatever reason we are here for, whether that reason was right or wrong. Providence, and American blood, has set a people free. I will not question that anymore, and neither will those standing and waving on the side of the road to Baghdad.