Saving Captain Row

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.
Then, after filling every media outlet with sanctimonious drivel,
The age discovers this hero is not a true one.
Are the actions of such a one less heroic just because he or she is not flawless?
No matter, of one of these I do not care to boast.
I'll take Captain Alex Row --
We all have seen him, in the anime,
Sent to cross the River Styx somewhat ere his time.

5 Perpatima, 3027
Anatoray Military Academy

“Poetry has its seeds in man’s heart…it turns the hearts of man and woman to each other and it sooths the soul of the fierce warrior.”
--Ki no Tsurayuki from the Kokinshu

Literature Class
0800 hours

Alex Row ducked as a paper airship flew over his head and crashed into the wall behind him. As he sat at a desk, he watched the chaos and hated this place with every fiber of his being. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands. He was exhausted by the effort it took to decipher what conduct was expected at any given moment. The hierarchy of a military school should be simply a matter of rank based on merit, but status at the Academy was far more byzantine. It seemed to be matter of family names, connections and expectations the nature of which eluded Alex. His competitive spirit rebelled against it.

Alex sat up, absent-mindedly scratching the skin under the wrist brace he wore. Even these airship battles the cadets amused themselves with were rigged. He would never be allowed to win. Somehow, though, the competitive spirit survived and resulted in some outrageous designs, with a few airships approaching one meter in length. These bigger ones did not fly well, and cadets in the flight path sustained injuries. However, it was an honor to receive a paper cut taking out an enemy airship, and handmade medals were given to those who distinguished themselves. Score was kept and winners posted daily in this elaborate game, but it was always the same people who won, even if they were terrible at it.

Alex hated the game. In an effort to avoid involvement, he sank as far down in his chair as possible. As if to spite him, an enormous airship landed at his feet.

“Hey, Row, scramble that airship immediately,” Ensign Stuart Hamilton shouted.

Alex ignored him and dug out his drawings for his engineering class.

“What are you, half-witted? Throw the airship.”

Alex studied his drawing; there was no way he would ever take an order from Hamilton. Too, he was particularly sensitive to comments about his intelligence. His father’s pointed remarks echoed through his mind.

“Sufferin’ Sisyphus, the child’s daft. He’s three years old, and he can’t speak a damn word.”

Alex hadn’t spoken because there was no need to. His sister, Hestia, thirteen months his senior, did all the talking.

“I want more supper, and Lexi does too,” she would declare. It was perfect; for minimal effort he got maximum reward.

But when he finally did speak a few months later, he looked at his father with clear, innocent eyes and said with perfect diction, “I hate you.”

“Row! Wake up! The airship, now!” said Ensign Hamilton.

Alex glared at Hamilton and went back to studying his drawings. He would pick up that airship when Hades froze over. Ensign Hamilton strode over to get the airship, and just as he reached for it, Alex stood on it. Alex disliked Hamilton. He used his family’s position to gain rewards he didn’t deserve, and the teachers usually differed to him.

“Move, you half-wit.”

“Make me.”

At this point airship traffic halted, and the cadets curiously watched the test of wills.

Hamilton tried to kick Alex but he was too slow. Alex hooked his foot behind Hamilton’s knees and threw him to the floor with a sweeping kick. Alex knelt on his chest with his hand at Hamilton’s neck.

“Let him go,” said Ensign Vincent Alzy.

“No.”

“Come on, Row, he’s my friend.”

Vincent and Alex were on friendly terms even though they did not share the same social status. They had been of equivalent rank as children, and they often played together. Their families’ land holdings shared a border. But their paths separated when Alex was five. Ten years of sustained drought had depleted House Row’s water resources to subsistence levels, and the Rows had been declared an abandoned house. The only reason the family still held their land and peerage was because of Lady Hippolyte, Alex’s great grandmother, and Marius Bashianus, the prime minister.

It was because of this connection that Alex relented and stood. He started back to his desk but Hamilton grabbed Alex from behind, encircling Alex’ neck with his arm. Alex turned ninety degrees, and hit Hamilton in the chest with an elbow strike, knocking him down again.

“That enough,” said Junior Lieutenant Euris Bassianus. As an upperclassman, she held seniority.

“Who do you think you are, Row? You’ll be sorry you did that!” threatened Hamilton.

Alex laughed at him; he took the liberated stance of someone who just doesn’t care anymore.

“Give it a rest, Hamilton; attacking from behind is cowardly,” said Euris.

Ensign Hamilton frowned at Euris. Alex understood enough of the nuances of the academy’s bizarre social system to know that Hamilton had just been humiliated. Euris out ranked Hamilton in everyway.

With the end of the altercation, the airship battle resumed, and Alex dodged flying objects in an attempt to get to his seat. He watched Euris walk across the room. Like Vincent, she was a childhood friend. When she and her father had fled the bloody Guild purge, the Rows had helped them. Alex’s father and mother were well into their smuggling enterprise by then. So there was nothing to stop them from fighting side by side with the ousted Guild families against House Eraclia. Euris and her father, Marius, had even lived with them for a few months until Marius was appointed to the ministry.

Commander Rooney, their professor, walked into the classroom and put his things on his desk. The cadets completely ignored him and continued with their raucous battle. Commander Rooney simply didn’t have what it took to control a class.

“Settle down!” shouted Commander Rooney. “You are junior officers in the Anatoray military, not a rowdy mob of goats.”

The cadets continued with conduct unbecoming officers. The noise was earsplitting, and Commander Rooney was barely audible.

“I’m not above murdering anyone of you,” Rooney shouted with his usual dry humor. “There’s not much the Academy could do to me; I retire in three months.”

Alex thought he was probably the only person listening, and that he would like to make a few suggestions.

Commander Moody strode to the classroom’s heavy door, opened it wide, and slammed it with all his strength. The resulting percussion brought sudden quiet. Everyone looked sheepishly at their professor. Unfortunately, his comb over had come unglued, and this was too much to bear. It took all the self-control the young officers had to stifle their laughter. Thirty seconds later the academy’s insignia which hung above the entrance, fell to the floor, resulting in mass hysteria.

After ten minutes and threats of putting the entire class on report, Commander Rooney managed to regain control. He began his lecture.

“We have been studying the poetry and epics of war as well as other works written by soldier. Next class your journals for this unit are due, and at least twenty percent must be in verse,” said the commander.

The cadets groaned loudly. Alex thought he was probably alone in his enjoyment of the class.

“I know you think of poetry as too soft for warriors, but through the long course of military history many great leaders have written verse and kept journals. Command of the art was part of the chivalric and bushido codes of knights and samurai. Older still are the works of the poet soldiers of ancient Greece and Rome, not to mention the superb death songs of the tribal warriors.

“Why do we do this?” continued Commander Rooney. “Soldiers are pawns. We act as weapons of the state; as such it is our responsibility to understand the nature of any particular war in which we are combatants. How does a soldier know that she is fighting in a just war? Sometimes it is simply a clear cut matter of self defense. But what if you are asked to fight a war of aggression or put down a rebellion of the citizens of your own country?

“Through writing, a soldier can discern the nature of a particular engagement and gain insight. Though you are a pawn in the bigger game waged by the state, you should be engaged in your own game so, when necessary, you have options."

Several hands shot into the air at this point, but the Commander ignored them saying, “I know what you are going to say. A soldier’s duty is to follow orders. However, I’m retiring, and in hindsight I wish someone had given me this advice when I was a cadet. You must think for yourselves and know when an order is wrong.

“Can there be any greater responsibility then the acts of war? Every soldier believes he is on the side of righteousness. But think back to Wolfram’s Parzival, it was the neutral angels that were given the honor of bringing the Grail from heaven. These were the angels who refrained from taking a side in Lucifer’s rebellion. Why were they so honored?

“Wolfram said every act whether black or white results in both good and evil. Further, he said that both good and evil go too far in the pursuit of their goals. It is through neutral self reflection that soldiers maintain balance, a balance that can save lives and livelihoods.

“Finally, fighting is dangerous. Soldiers are wounded in body, heart, and mind. There is nothing more powerful then the metaphor of poetry to explore the actualities of war and of the thoughts and feeling that accompany fighting. Seek your own healing. ”

“Let’s move on to the assignment for today. I assume everyone is prepared to read a poem from their journals,” said Commander Rooney. “Remember that I will accept something as short as a haiku, as long as it is written in the proper form.”

“Let’s start with Ensign Unwardil.”

Standing, the ensign recited,

“Composing haiku,
He increases his badassery
Exponentially.”

The rest of the class laughed. Alex smiled at Ensign Unwardil’s cleverness, as he wrote down the word badass, wondering when and where he could put it to use.

Putting his hand up for silence, Commander Rooney looked perplexed for a moment, and then commented, “Well, Ensign Unwardil that was not bad. Though your language is a bit common, your sentiment is admirable. Full Marks!”

Commander Rooney turned and surveyed the class. Alzy and Hamilton, unaware of their teacher’s scrutiny, were whispering to the students surrounding them. Raucous laughter followed.

“Ensign Hamilton what are you muttering about. Let’s see if you have anything to offer.”

Ensign Hamilton winked at his friends, rose and began,

“The foolish couple
Mimicking the erotic picture
Sprained their wrists.”

Alex and Euris exchanged glances. They were both wearing wrist braces, though not because of an erotic encounter. Their injuries were the result of a contest at the martial games, and everyone knew it.

“Ensign Hamilton, you must have gotten access to the Big Blue Book of Erotic Haiku. I am familiar with that particular verse. Fail!”

“Junior Lieutenant Bassianus, would you care to comment?” asked Commander Rooney.

Euris stood and on the spot composed,

“Whispering,
And then laughing out loud---
How detestable.”

“Well, Junior Lieutenant, you seem to be improving! Full marks.”

Euris waved at Alex and mouthed, “Thank you.” Alex nodded. As her tutor, he was pleased to see some progress, it certainly hadn’t been easy.

“What about you, Ensign Row?”

Alex stood, and, recited from memory;

I'd like to show your eyes the plains
And a green forest,
Far off and soft,
Under deep skies and clear horizons.
Or some hills
With rocky slopes
So changing and supple in the mist,
Seeming to melt in the sweetness of the air,
Either hills
Or forest.
I'd like
You to hear
Strong, vast, deep, and tender,
The great dull voice of a sea
That moans with Love for the land;
And once in a while
Right next to you,
In the interval,
I'd like you to hear
Right next to you
A dove.
I'd like you to hear
The gushing of a spring,
And for your steps
I'd like a narrow little path, grassy and sandy
Going up a bit and coming down,
Turning and seeming
To approach the limits of silence.
A very little sandy path
Where your steps would leave faint marks,
Our steps ….

“Jeez, Row, a dove?” interrupted Vincent Alzy. “Way to raise the bar! What’s wrong with you? You ruined it for everybody!”

“Ensign Alzy, I don’t recall asking for your comments,” said Commander Moody

Alex glared at Vincent and pushed down his desire for immediate revenge. He did not like being interrupted.

“Ensign Row, I’m afraid Ensign Alzy is right; this far exceeds expectations. Excellent work.”

Alex looked around the room. Vincent and his friends stared at him in disapproval, but a few others seemed to appreciate his work.

“Ensign Row,” Commander Rooney said with a curious glance, “Are you finished?

“There are twenty more lines, Sir,” he replied.

“I’d like to hear the rest, but we have no more time. I look forward to reading your journal. Your work far outstrips that of your peers. Report to me at sixteen hundred hours to discuss publication. Class dismissed.”

Alex groaned. Publication was the last thing he wanted, but he didn’t have time to protest. He quickly gathered his notebooks. He had a presentation due in engineering class.

Euris was waiting for him in the corridor. “Hey Row, thanks for tutoring me in this subject. I really couldn’t afford to fail it twice. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten full marks from Commander Rooney.”

“Thank Commander Rooney. It was his idea.” Alex replied as he hurried past her. It struck him that he was being rude, but she had been singularly dense when it came to poetry. Besides, it wasn’t everyday he got to present his diagrams for a turret-mounted splinter rocket to the head of the engineering department.

Grabbing Alex by the wrist, Euris asked him to wait for just a moment.

“You deserve a reward,” she said. “I’m going to let you take me to the Junior Lieutenant’s cotillion.”

Alex started to decline; it was a pity date. He didn’t have a formal uniform, and he didn’t want one. Cotillions were for snobs, there was no way…

As if reading his mind, Euris said, “That’s an order, Ensign. Report to my quarters at twenty-one hundred hours for dancing lessons.”

“But I know how to dance.”

“Not this kind of dancing, you don’t! Oh, and I need you to edit this poem for my notebook. See you tonight.”

As he watched her leave a smile edged over his lips; then he remembered he was in a hurry.

Commander Rooney’s Office
1600 Hours

Sitting facing Commander Rooney, Alex draped his arms over the back of his chair. He was pleased with himself. His weapon design was going to be made into a prototype. Though he hated being the center of attention, he wouldn’t mind being famous for creating a really badass gun.

“Ensign Row, are you listening?” said Commander Rooney.

“I’m sorry, Sir. My mind wandered.”

“Ensign Row, you’re a very good writer. I think you should consider allowing me to show your work to publishers.”

“No, I don’t want any notoriety.”

“I find that so amazing coming from you. You’re always in the middle of some fray.”

“I know Sir, but I don’t seek it; it finds me.”

“Ahh … I see, perhaps it’s your fate.”

“Please, Sir, don’t say that.”

“Ensign Row, would you object to publication under a pseudonym? It could bring you an income… make things a little easier.”

Alex considered this. It was tempting; there were things he needed. A name even came to mind.

“What about Nicholas Templar?” Alex asked.

“Nicholas Templar, I like it.”

Outside the Quarters of Junior Lieutenant Euris Bassianus
2055 Hours

Alex sat on the floor reading Euris’ poem.

The Forest and the City

Lady Artemis, virgin goddess of the wild hearted warrior,
Secret bather, swimming in enchanted pools of deep forest realms,
I have followed your path, and prayed in your domain.
I have loved your pristine wooded land, and all within it.

But pity me now, for my heart is ensnared by the city.
And I must turn to Lady Aphrodite for advice.
My beloved's rapture calls; though I try, I cannot ignore him.
Please do not curse me as I turn from maiden to lover.

Lady Artemis forgive me.

Too wordy as usual, Alex thought marking up the paper, misplaced modifiers, too dramatic, but better than usual. The sentiment however is bit too confessional. Is she really going to hand this in as a class assignment? Why did she give this to me? He considered leaving when he noticed she sat beside him.

With a pitying look Euris said, "You are so dense. Who marks a love poem for grammar?"

The introductory poem is based on the first stanza from Canto the First of "Don Juan" by Lord Byron.

Euris and Hamilton’s haiku come from Haiku Humor.

Alex' poem is based on the poem “Wish” byHenri de Régnier.