Philosophical Investments

"Mr Whitlocke," he turned and hesitated as she supplied her name, part of the play to keep them off-balance, "and Ms Raveshaw, my apologies for keeping you waiting, but I was unavoidably detained by another client." He wrung his hands, "I apologize for my tardiness."

"Apology accepted," I said, "But I'm afraid my colleague is less inclined to forgive. The inability to keep an accurate schedule indicates a lack of the appropriate business acumen." I let my words dangle as I handed over a business card that gave all the details of a fictitious Middle East-based private investment company.

Everything on the card had been generated by Kirsten, meaning the numbers, emails, and even records would all match up. A visit to Dubai would have led to a building with an appropriately staffed office.

The mention of a seven-figure investment was more than enough to get them interested in setting up the necessary meetings and firms to audit the integrity of their books. Just like that, we gained complete access to their financial records going back as far as needed.

However, all this was just the tiny pieces of the puzzle, and we needed to figure out what the broader picture might entail. So, when Lukas decided it was time to grab the carnival's head honcho for a little chat in the middle of the night, he was planning that we drop in and ask a few questions.

Lukas runs a tight ship, which includes planning for contingencies, some common-sense, others a little outlandish. Unfortunately, it was my turn to do all that planning and paperwork. I hate paperwork slightly less than my ex-fiancé. But what Lukas did was intelligent, giving us all exposure to the nightmare of bureaucracy and tactical and strategic headaches.

Many die during our war, but those that survive could one day run their Cabal, so sometimes it is a bit of a back-to-school daze. My briefing was short and directly to the point. I skipped most of the background as everyone was up to speed on the objectives, targets and area. To sum it up, we were going to punch in, acquire the target and get out.

There were no questions or comments about the proposed strategy. That made me nervous as I went over it several more times. Either the plan was brilliant or missed something that would kill us all.

If I had known just how big a mistake the quiet and simple was going to be, I would have argued for an assault in force, guns blazing, and a carnival of carnage. Hindsight is annoyingly perfect that way as I studied the map yet again. "Worried about something going wrong?" asked Lukas.

"Considering what happened last time," I didn't need to complete my sentence. What was supposed to be the execution of a blood-crazed vampire had gotten immensely complicated when a werewolf showed up and started taking swipes at the Vampire in question. We'd culled both but nearly lost our heads to trigger-happy police pursuing the werewolf.

"The old saying, "no plan survives contact with the enemy" is bullshit. The moment the plan connects with reality, things will go wrong. That's the one thing you can count on." He cautioned.

Even though that was true, that was still the least of my worries, "I'm still new to…this…." I wasn't sure how to phrase my words. Still, I took a stab at it, "I'm new to command, running operations and handling all the associated paperwork. I like being the "perfect" solider." That raised an eyebrow, "Because there is no paperwork."

Lukas's chuckle was dark, sarcastic, and borderline sardonic, "Would you say that you are the perfect soldier without feeling? Free of a conscience that does not lose sleep at night for carrying out your orders?"

I shook my head, "Perfect in that I'm in over my head eliminating heretics, cultists, mutants, demons." I replied with equal sarcasm before getting serious, "I have a conscience, feel guilty, and lose sleep. But our battlefield is not a traditional one. The men and women we kill do not – normally – wear the colours of a recognizable enemy. I kill so that it won't kill me," I'd opened the floodgate. But all of this had been eating at me, even though I knew I'd had this conversation before.

"I've got to live with the fact that whoever I kill, heretic, cultist, perhaps even mutant and demon worshiper, is still a human…Someone's brother, father, mother, sister, or child, and I may not feel it when I do it, but later, their faces haunt me in my sleep."

"You have to live with your actions," he agreed, "But you've also got to realize that I live with the consequences too. I have to live with it twofold: my conscience for giving those orders and then wondering what carrying out those orders do to you and any other member of my Cabal." He shrugged, "It's just as bad when the fallen is a Legionnaire or Initiate, but at least you can make sure those ghosts are friendly."

Lukas had a faraway look in his eyes, like a ten thousand-yard stare. I don't think he saw me as he spoke, "You've seen what we fight and what could happen if the Darkness were to gain more than the few footholds it has."

Those in the know, know that Africa is not a "foothold." Darkness has it, and it will not relinquish its grip. Fortunately, they are all too busy fighting amongst themselves. If they were to merge and put aside their differences, we'd be hard-pressed to contain them. We'd probably lose half of Europe before mustering a defensive line.

"We are the weapons that ensure that what is right prevails." I don't know if I was looking for an excuse, comfort, or reason. As Lukas continued, I was figuring out what I was looking to get out of the suddenly philosophical conversation.

"The Legion is composed of men and women that employ force to protect and defend. We repair and mend the damage to varying degrees of success. You have to remember that the Legion is not right. In the Legion, every initiate and legionnaire is a necessary evil. Being right has nothing to do with weapons, tactics, strategy, or force of arms. Being right does not follow from having the force of arms to enforce our will, our views, and our ideals. The Legion fights to preserve human life and to ensure that humanity grows and prospers in relative peace. The Legion is a strong, powerful, and deadly weapon because it does what is right."

Sometimes I'm not too fond of how Lukas comes in, drops his philosophical musings and then leaves you to consider the meaning of his words. I was not the only one to sometimes suddenly wake up in the middle of the night wondering, "What the hell did he mean by that?!"

He shook his head and drained the dregs of his coffee. It was not a day for hot chocolate. I stood, leaving the briefing room to join the others in the armoury, making their final checks and preparations.

I followed him as he left the briefing room, down the wall towards the armoury, "We are not right because we have the weapons to enforce our way or wants. If weapons are what makes us right, then humanity is damned, and the Darkness has already won."

I stared at the assembled racks: Body armour, ammunition clips, grenades of varying kinds, and firearms of numerous makes and calibres, "You picked a heck of a time to become a philosopher warrior." A thought struck me, "What exactly do you hope to achieve by fighting?"

"What I would like is that when I'm gone, there will still be Legionnaires who understand more than just tactics, weaponry, and strategy. I want Legionnaires that understand what the Legion fights and why the Legion fights."

I'd strapped on my body armour and holstered matched side arms. This time, I left the heavier Land-Hammer resting on the custom-built cradle in the wall. "Lukas, can I ask you a personal question?" He nodded, even as he tightened the fastenings on his armour, "How old are you?"

He grinned at me, "Old enough to be your grandfather, junior." The crusty old dog had a sense of humour, after all.