Thomas cleared his throat, leant forward, and began. “People of Portsmouth, this is General Thomas addressing you. Some of you do not know me well, but I would like to express my gratitude to every citizen of this remarkable city. I am grateful that you fought with tooth and nail to survive. I am grateful that you refused to give in to fear, that you were unyielding to the brutality and violence designed to cow you. Each of you is a warrior, and I call upon you now to keep that warrior spirit alive. Continue fighting. Continue refusing the enemy at every turn. Do that, and I promise you victory. Do that, and we shall one day stand triumphant. We hail from many different places, but today we stand as brothers and sisters of Great Britain.”
There was a brief cheer from the gathered forces, but it was not as loud as he’d hoped. While his long-standing troops were proudly British, those who had served under Wickstaff seemed to have shed their national identity. It would take some time to restore their patriotism, especially in those who hailed from foreign climes. Nonetheless, he was duty-bound to try. “Our enemy is wounded, and we must be merciless. We must show our foe the same savagery it showed to us. We must not relent. We must not stop. The fight can only end once our homeland is wholly liberated. There will be battles to come, I assure you, for the enemy will now do the only thing it can. It shall rally its remaining forces and attempt, one last time, to annihilate us. We must ready our daggers to plunge into the heart of that dying beast, and to do so we must stand together. No longer shall there be soldiers and civilians. From this day forward, we are all soldiers. All shall be trained. All shall receive their duties with courage and conviction. We must fight as one and for each other, or we shall surely die.”
Muffled dissent spread through the far edges of the crowd. That they even dared to consider the veracity of his words inflamed Thomas greatly. His heart pounded in his chest. “What I speak of is not optional. Portsmouth will become a well-oiled machine of war. Anyone impeding its efficiency shall find themselves unwelcome within its walls. Burdens will not be tolerated.”
“Murderer!” someone shouted.
“Long live General Wickstaff!” yelled another.
Thomas’s cheeks grew hot. He searched the crowd – whoever had shouted would be shot – but he couldn’t identify the offenders. The sheer number of bodies packed together ensured anonymity. His rage spilled out, but he forced himself to contain it. This was not the time for blunt force. “I understand the loss many of you are feeling. Amanda Wickstaff was a hero in the truest sense of the word. She fought alongside you, risking death and injury when she could have sat back and sent others to their deaths. She led Portsmouth to victory after victory in the absence of any established authority. No doubt she was the finest of women and the bravest of souls, but she was also tired. Upon my arrival in Portsmouth, Amanda expressed her relief to me. She was grateful to hand over the mantel and rest. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. The enemy took her from us. Please know that I am not seeking to replace Amanda Wickstaff, only to protect what she has built. As long as Portsmouth stands, she will never be forgotten. She will be the first and most revered saint of our new world. Future generations shall praise her name. For those of you who resent me being here, please know that Amanda Wickstaff welcomed me. So I ask you – no, I beg of you – to please move forward and focus on our true enemy. Let’s wipe those demon bastards off the face of the Earth.” He hated to use the D word – it reeked of hysteria – but he knew the reaction it elicited in people. Their mutual hatred and fear of their enemy galvanised them and made them family. By using the word, he was one of them. He also hated having to indulge the hero worship of his ignorant predecessor, but it was a necessary evil. If Portsmouth had remained in Amanda Wickstaff’s charge, it would have become a mass grave. The woman had been soft, as all women were, and had cared about her people far too much. The only thing that mattered was the survival of the human race, and he, General Thomas, was the only person willing to lead with that sole purpose in mind.
Let people think me callous or uncaring. At least they will live.
Thomas’s words had the intended effect. The crowd directly in front of him pumped their fists and cheered. Those further afield – those struggling with past loyalties – seemed more supportive too. That was how easy it was to gain a man’s loyalty. Mere words could do it.
General Thomas turned and marched across the stage. He couldn’t help but notice the guilty flicker in Colonel Cross’s eyes as he passed the man. There had been many disappointments in the last few days, but Colonel Cross’s failure to apprehend General Wickstaff’s aide-de-camp, Maddy, was amongst the most grievous. The woman had gone missing, and the only way it could have happened was if somebody had helped her.
Was it you, Tony? Can I trust you?
Of course not. No one can be trusted.
Thomas sincerely hoped Colonel Cross was not a traitor, because it would be a shame to shoot such a useful man. But such things happened in war.
General Thomas finished his speech at around midday, which meant the sun was still shining
