Chapter Text
** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall **
Lieutenant Christina Matthews stood up from the bench outside of President/General Monroe's office and straightened the jacket of her uniform before walking in. Being made to wait even when you had been sent for was not unheard of in the military. It was to be expected, even.
She hadn't seen Monroe when she and her men had arrived in Philadelphia with the reports from St. Louis. He had been busy elsewhere so she had left the dispatch with his staff. That had been almost a week ago. Truthfully, as much as there had been for him to go through, she had figured they'd be sitting on their hands for the better part of a month before he had orders ready to send back with them. She didn't even really expect to see Monroe today, but another staffer just handing off paperwork.
No such luck. Behind the desk was El Presidente himself. His head was lowered when she came in. She walked to his desk and came to a stop. “Lieutenant Matthews reporting, Sir.”
Monroe raised his head. She saw him pause but ignored it. She was used to it. The key was to act like she didn't notice. Other female soldiers used their faces and their bodies to get what they wanted, but she refused to whore herself like that. She wasn't going to have it said that she slept her way up the ladder. All she had to do was keep her head down until her time was up and then slip back into obscurity, leaving the Militia behind her.
Monroe straightened up, his eyes sweeping over her in appraisal. “At ease, Lieutenant.” She went into a parade rest stance. “I started going over the reports Dixon sent with you, when I noticed something about half of them. Do you know what that was?”
She was going to frown but stopped herself. “No, Sir. I have no knowledge of what was in the satchel except for the reports I penned myself.”
“Almost half of what you brought me were letters of recommendation from Dixon and your fellow officers. Recommendations about you.” He watched her for a response, but all she could give him was puzzlement. “You didn't take even a small peek?”
“It was not my place, Sir. The reports were meant for your eyes only.”
Monroe smiled. “You were conscripted, correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Colonel Dixon promoted you from a private to corporal to sergeant, then decided he wanted you to have the authority to command a unit of your own, so he gave you a field promotion to Lieutenant. Almost unheard of, for a conscript to make officer rank. Only happens with those who are above par in their actions and ingenuity. The reports he sent after that promotion supported his decision.”
She wasn't sure where he was going with this. She kept her eyes forward as he came out from behind the desk. “Now, it's well within the authority of Dixon to make you a lieutenant, however given that you were conscripted, it takes someone higher up the chain of command to promote you above that. That was why he sent all the reports and letters of recommendation. He thinks you've earned a promotion to captain.” He perched on the edge of his desk, barely more than a foot from her, close enough she could catch the scent of high quality whiskey and a subtle aftershave. “After going over the missives pertaining directly to you, I have to agree.” He pulled out his side arm, flipped it around and offered it to her, butt first. “Congratulations, Captain Matthews.”
So much for keeping her head down. This is what she got for doing her job. She swallowed and accepted the firearm. “Thank you, Sir.” She would need to stop by the Quartermaster and get a holster for it. “Do you have the orders for Fort St. Louis ready?”
He arched an amused brow at her. “All work and no play, Captain? No wonder you're so good at your job.” He got up. “No, I won't have those worked out for several days. Besides, you and your men marched two months to get here. Let them have a rest. And you should celebrate. I'll be at Harriford's with some of my officers tonight for a drink. I want you to join us at our table so we can welcome you properly. Your men will probably be there anyway. It is one of the more popular bars for the soldiers.”
“Yes, Sir. I'll be sure to be there. Is there anything else, Sir?”
He studied her again. She could feel the weight of his eyes moving over her. No reaction. Show nothing. Certainly do not shiver, he might take it as a good sign. “That will be all, Captain.” She snapped her heels together and turned about, walking from the room at a normal pace.
She waited until she was outside of Liberty Hall to release a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Well, damn.” So much for keeping a low profile.
When Charlotte Christina Matheson had gotten herself snatched by a conscription crew five years ago, she'd been terrified. With good reason. When she was younger she had no idea why her parents were hiding from Uncle Miles. It was only when she got old enough to hang around with other kids for hunting or fishing expeditions that she heard the stories of General Miles Matheson, the man in charge of the entire Monroe Militia and best friend to President Sebastian Monroe himself. She hadn't said anything to them, having trouble reconciling the stories of these men with 'Uncle Miles and Mr. Fishy' and had waited until she got home to ask her father about it. The truth had hurt, but she finally understood why they were hiding. So much so that she'd had the good sense to give the conscript crew a fake name when they grabbed her, hoping it would by her family time to run once they learned she'd been caught. No need to risk using her real name when the soldiers might be under orders to watch out for a Charlotte or Daniel Matheson crossing their path.
An enlistment was usually only five years, but her clock had restarted when her enlistment became a commission two years in to her run. Now she had another two years before she could slip away, and that had been contingent on not drawing attention to herself. Unfortunately she had been raised to always do her best at whatever task she was assigned, and doing her job as first a solider and then an officer apparently made her stand out. Either her fellow officers were lazy assholes, which was a strong possibility, the the fact she was a woman made her a rarity. If she kept this up the jerks would make her a major or pull a fast one and just not let her leave and instead roll over her commission.
“Way to go, dumb ass.” Nothing to do about it now. She sighed and headed towards the Quatermaster's office.
The Quartermaster was more than happy to outfit her with a holster for her new sidearm, as well as several boxes of rounds with a polite, yet firm admonishment to remember that they could not manufacture new ones and that her ammunition should be used as sparingly as possible. She'd heard the speech before. She'd given it to a few officers when she had started out as part of the Quartermaster's office. That was before a surprise attack by the Plains Nation which had ended up with her going above and beyond her duties and station, picking up the stragglers remaining from broken units and pulling them together into a coherent, working whole. That was what had caught Dixon's attention and what had gotten her out of a Quartermaster posting and into an active combat unit as a corporal. Her performance as a fighter had made her a sergeant, and eventually a lieutenant with her own squad to command.
She supposed now she'd get a whole damn platoon. Great. It had taken months to whip her twelve squad members into shape. Now she'd have to crack some more skulls and kick some more asses to get three to four more squads working how she wanted them to, not to mention the lieutenants who'd be assigned to her.
She made her way to the barracks her men were assigned while in Philly. She knew they'd stayed out late drinking and getting to know the local prostitutes. She didn't mind them going to pros, or being with girls who were willing. It was the rape and assault that other officers let their men get away with that pissed her off. That she wouldn't tolerate, and her men had learned it well.
The open room smelled of stale booze, sweat and musk. She looked over it in the dim light, twelve of the sixteen bunks filled, one a little over-filled. Higgins must have come back early, and not alone. She walked over to the bunk and crouched down by the side where the girl was sleeping. She was a pretty thing, all raven curls and a cupid's bow mouth. Poor dear.
“Hey,” she whispered, reaching out to tuck one of the girl's curls behind her ear gently. “Wake up.” Blue eyes blinked blearily at her. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he's got a wife and three kids back in St. Louis.” Her head came up off the pillow and Higgins' arm, her brow furrowed. “I should know, he named the last one after me.”
That did it.
“Bastard!” The flavor of the night shoved Higgins hard, pushing him out of the cot to land hard on the floor. That started a chain reaction of complaints and moans of pain. “You're married?” The shriek even made Charlie flinch. Higgins clambered up. “Brenda, I can explain...”
“It's BARBRA!” She was wriggling into her panties, they hadn't bothered getting her out of her dress. Charlie held up her shoes to her and the girl snatched them before storming out on her bare feet.
Higgins blinked bleary eyed at the door where Brenda/Barbara had just left then up at her. “Why'd you go and do that, Ma'am?”
“Because you're a pig and you do not deserve Mary.”
“I'll take her. I like Mary.” Trent grinned at Higgins, apparently unaffected by the previous night's libations. That wasn't unusual. Trent never got hung over, no matter how much he drank.
“You keep your hands off my wife!” Higgins made to get up and lunge and Trent, but Charlie pushed him back down.
“Then you try keeping it in your pants.” He flushed under her glare, then frowned.
“You're wearing a piece.” He looked at up her, jaw slack.
Charlie rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Some idiot thought it'd be a good idea to promote me.” There was stunned silence for a moment, then the guys started up with the cheering, in spite of little sleep and pounding heads. “Yeah, yeah. Hooray for me. On another note, it looks like we'll be here for a few days and I'm not letting you knuckleheads go to seed on my watch. Get dressed, we're taking a run.” That brought about groans and complaints, but she just smirked before leaving them to it. She'd teach them not to drink themselves stupid if it was the last thing she did.
** Philadelphia, Harriford's Bar **
Get soldiers together and give them liquor, and things got rowdy. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the roar of the crowd. Sure enough, her idiots were there even after she'd put them through the ringer today. Things were shaping up to look like another run tomorrow.
Her eyes scanned the bar, hoping that perhaps Monroe and his officers had either already left or had decided to go somewhere else. To her complete disappointment, they were still there. She recognized Monroe and the man next to him, General Matheson. The others were strangers to her, but those two were danger enough for her.
What if her uncle recognized her? She hadn't seen him since she was, what, four? Surely there was little of the toddler from back then still in the woman she was now.
Squaring her shoulders she made her way through the bar, or at least tried to. Some idiot grabbed her ass and she reacted before she could think. The yelp from the man as she sent her elbow into his face drew the attention of more than a few, including Monroe and his companions. She ignored the stares and instead turned her head back to look at her would-be Romeo. “I'm sorry, was my butt falling off or something?”
He clutched his nose, blood trickling through his fingers. He looked like a civilian. Good. She hadn't assaulted someone higher ranking, then. “No, Ma'am. I'm sorry.” He backed away from her and headed out the door into the night, allowing her to resume her journey to the table. This time people got out of her way.
“I'm sorry about that, Sir. Reflex.”
Monroe was grinning up at her. Her uncle was hiding a smirk behind his whiskey. “No apologies needed, Captain. If you want we can have him hauled in for assaulting an officer.”
“I think he's learned his lesson.”
“Unless he's stupid.” He got up and pulled out a seat for her. “Gentlemen, meet the Militia's newest Captain, Christina Matthews. Captain, this is my old friend General Miles Matheson, and these two roustabouts are Captains Jeremy Baker and Tom Neville.”
She nodded in greetings to the men in turn as she accepted the seat. “A pleasure.”
Neville was watching her with a piercing, calculating gaze. “Congratulations on your promotion, Chris. Is it all right to call you that?”
“I've never had a problem with it before. And thank you, though if I'd known that was what Colonel Dixon was up to when he sent me out here instead of a courier, I would have managed to break my ankle or something.”
“It's been my experience that if you get promoted on the border it usually just means you've outlived the guy in front of you. But in my case I really don't want to have to work over a new crop of knuckleheads until I've got them where I want them.”
“I know that feeling.” That came from Jeremy who refilled his glass before seeing to Miles'. “No matter how well trained they come out of the camps, there's still polishing to be done.”
“Are you saying I don't know how to train my men, Jeremy?” There was no heat in Miles' voice or eyes. He looked rather mellow, in fact.
“You do, sure, did a great job with us. But these new guys aren't getting the benefit of your personal touch.”
“Yeah, well, that's what happens when someone decides to put you in charge of the whole damn show.”
“Wouldn't trust anyone else with the job, Bro.” Monroe gave Miles' upper arm a playful punch. Charlie was guessing they'd been drinking for a while to be this relaxed. Except for Neville. That man was probably still nursing only his first or second drink, keeping himself sharp. “Chris, here.” Monroe picked up the bottle they were sharing once one of the waitstaff had brought her a glass. He poured about three fingers worth into the glass for her and refilled his own. He set the now empty bottle down and it was replaced with a full one so fast Charlie almost missed the switch.
“To Captain Christina Matthews,” the other men at the table raised their glasses, “may you continue to be a model of all the best the Monroe Republic has to offer.” There were voices of agreement and glasses clinked before they all drank. The whiskey burned going down, she'd practiced drinking it in St. Louis because with officers there was always something to celebrate. Or a poker game. She'd learned to drink it well enough she could pass, but she never let herself get drunk. She and Neville had that in common, it would seem.
“So, Chris,” Jeremy looked over in her direction, “how are things out on the border?”
“Up and down. Fortunately the Plains Nation is so fragmented that they rarely managed a cohesive attack. Sometimes you'll get a few tribes banding together for an actual planned run, and that might pin you down for a week or so, but most of the men we lose are during tax runs. They get hit between settlements while they're away from the forts and garrisons.”
“Just like the Wild West, with soldiers and Indians.”
“Don't let them hear you say that.”
Jeremy frowned. “Who?”
“The Indians. The real ones.” She turned her glass absently. “Before I made lieutenant I was sent with a few others on an intelligence run across the border, towards the northern part of the region. We ran into the Lakota, stayed with them for a few days as their guests, mainly because we'd never seen any of them working with the 'tribes' that hit the borders. Turns out most of the real Indian tribes don't care for what they call the 'pretenders'. Keep their distance from them and don't allow them into their territory.”
Miles had a thoughtful look on his face. “I remember that report. That's why Dixon made you a lieutenant.”
Monroe pointed to Miles, glass still in his hand as he recalled it as well. “That's right. It was her idea to stay and talk instead of just attacking.” He turned his attention towards her. “You got us a better insight as to how things are laid out in the Plains Nation. Thanks to you, we know that if we decide to just go in and take it we likely can get some support from the original tribes. As long as we let them keep their territories.”
Right, she'd forgotten about that part. Again, not doing so well with keeping her head down. Damn it.
There was a noise from the bar and all heads turned. She groaned when she saw Trent standing in a chair, rapping a spoon against his glass. “Attention. May I have your attention, please.”
“You know that guy?” Jeremy was watching the soldier curiously.
“Ignore him. He's drunk. He never looks it, but he is.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Trent began in his honeyed voice that usually made panties melt right off, “it is not every day that your commanding officer gets promoted. Being a border squad, we learn to rely on one another, and on our CO, as though we're all family.”
Charlie closed her eyes. “I'm going to have to kill that idiot.” She heard Monroe chuckle.
“Now, I'll be the first to admit that I had my doubts about being assigned to Matthews. She has something of a reputation of being a little... strict. However, over this past year I have seen her go above and beyond to make sure each of us got home, no matter the odds, time and time again. Sure, she demands a lot of us, and just when we think we've done enough to win her approval she asks for even more, but she gives back just as much. So,” he met her eyes, ignoring her warning glare, “Captain Matthews, you don't just make us want to be better soldiers, you make us want to be better men. And though we may whine and complain and...”
“Bitch and moan like a bunch of teenage girls?” Take the hint doofus.
“That, too,” he agreed with a nod, “even with all of that, we still love you for it.” He raised his glass high. “To Captain Matthews!”
The rest of her squad and many of the soldiers in the bar joined in on the toast. She knew she was blushing from the burn in her cheeks. She turned back to the table, trying to ignore the smiles of the men at her table. “Looks like another run tomorrow.”
“I heard about that. Did you seriously make your guys get up and run five miles after you left my office?”
“Yes, I did. I don't want them picking up bad habits.”
“How so?”
She met Monroe's gaze. “They're being sloppy because they're here in Philadelphia instead of back home. On the border you can't drink yourself stupid, because when an attack does come there usually is no warning. You can't be at your best if you're hung over and retching every five minutes. I'm going to teach those knuckleheads to moderate their alcohol even if I have to drag them to Hell and back.”
Jeremy laughed. “Damn, Miles, she sounds like you.”
Her uncle shrugged with one shoulder. “I like her.”
** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall **
She had a small thread of hope that Monroe had asked her back here because he had the orders for St. Louis ready, but she knew it was a vain hope. She doubted that he wanted anything official.
“I'd say you had a successful evening.” He poured whiskey from a crystal decanter into two glasses. Honestly, how did the top brass stay on their feet with the amount of liquor they consumed? “Even Miles liked you, and he doesn't say that about a lot of people.” She accepted the glass he offered but didn't drink from it.
“He doesn't seem as scary as the stories make him out to be in person.”
“Oh, don't be fooled. You saw him when he wasn't busy running a campaign or taking care of bandits. He doesn't get the chance to unwind often. You're lucky to catch him in a good mood.”
“Ah.” She tapped her glass nervously. There had been senior officers who had tried in St. Louis, and when she had shut them down some of them had gone out of their way to make her life miserable. Dixon, however, was a decent enough man and happily married. He got wind of what was going on soon enough and put a stop to it, even going so far as to demote three of them for 'Behavior Unbecoming an Officer”. He didn't fight her battles for her, he just laid down the law if they tried to punish her for saying 'no'.
But Dixon couldn't help her here. Monroe was the top of the food chain in the Republic. Maybe if she ran to Uncle Miles and confessed as to who she was? No, that would be stupid. She'd likely end up in a cell for her deception and interrogated for the whereabouts of her parents, which she didn't even know herself.
She set her glass down on a nearby end table. “You said you wanted to talk, Sir?” Please just want to talk.
Monroe gave her a little half smirk that crushed her last hope. “Let's stop being coy, Christina. You know why I wanted you here tonight.” He had moved closer to her, one hand coming up to toy with a short curl that had worked its way free of her braid.
Charlie swallowed and licked her lips to moisten them. She tried to ignore how Monroe's gaze fell to her mouth. “Sir, I've made it a habit not to become intimately involved with fellow Militia members. I've seen that turn out badly for all parties involved too many times. And I'm not one of those who tries to sleep her way to the top.”
“If your CO was anyone other than Dixon, I'd have my doubts about that. But I know he'd never stray from Cecelia. I've seen the women who have tried, and I know the man has a will of iron when it comes to that.” He let his fingers trail lightly over her cheek and jaw. “But one of the benefits of being President of the Republic is that no one is going to say anything about who I spend my time with.”
No, they probably wouldn't. “Then surely a man of your experience would prefer someone who actually knew what she was doing.”
He paused, as if not quite understanding that she was trying to decline. His eyes searched her face, as though looking at something only he could see. Idly, he set his glass down next to hers. “You never have. Not with anyone.”
“I was conscripted when I was fifteen, Sir.”
“I'll have to remember to commend the officer in charge of the camp when you were there. Miles has had to deal with others who thought the female conscripts were fair game. He doesn't care for pedophiles, and a lot of the conscripts are even younger than you were.”
“He's sounding less and less scary all the time.” She offered a slight smile and moved to step back, but Monroe's hands came to her shoulders, stopping her.
“Christina, there's nothing to be nervous about.” He pulled her closer to him. Damn. He wasn't going to let this go. He moved a hand to cup her chin, tilting her face up so he could plant a soft kiss on her lips, then a trailing line of kisses over her jaw and up to her ear so that he can whisper. “Trust my lead,” he tells her as he nuzzles her ear, “I'll take care of you.”
** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall, ten days later **
Charlie awoke in the now familiar bed, the weight of Sebastian Monroe's arm heavy across her waist. Every night since that first one she had been here. The first night or two had been mildly uncomfortable, but not horribly so, as her body had to learn to stretch and accommodate the unfamiliar invasion of another's body into her own. But Bass was a patient and considerate lover, bringing her to orgasm at least twice before entering her, either with his fingers or his mouth or both. Making sure she was wet and relaxed before actual penetration.
She needed to get out of Philadelphia. She was fairly certain this had become a game to him. He'd summon her to Liberty Hall, she would arrive and inquire if the orders she needed to carry back to St. Louis were ready, and he'd 'regretfully' tell her that he and Miles weren't done with them, yet. Dinner was always involved, either just the two of them alone or with Miles there. She knew her uncle was aware of what happened when he left, even when he lingered longer, sitting there with her and Bass like a man visiting his friends who just happened to be a couple. Once she caught him smiling her way, a satisfied, almost relieved smile that left her puzzled.
She had to get away from Monroe. She didn't find his touch distasteful. On the contrary, she found him addicting. His kisses alone were like a drug. He seemed to have the unnatural ability to flavor his kiss with whatever he was feeling. Lust was the most common. A few days ago when he'd received reports from the Georgian front about a heat up there, she'd tasted anger and annoyance on his lips, and a longing to find a respite from the burdens of office. Apparently she was his respite of choice as he still managed to get them both to his rooms and get her undressed.
The men knew what was going on. And they weren't comfortable with it. She was infamous for saying 'no' and being something of a prude. Perhaps they could see it in the tensing of her shoulders whenever the runner came from Liberty Hall to tell her that her presence was requested. They were holding off on the drinking and casting dark looks towards the guards at the capitol building. She feared that if things went on like this much longer one of the idiots might do something stupid and misguided, like an assassination attempt.
She felt him stir at her back, muttering to himself as he moved. His morning erection rubbed against the curve of her hip and her body shivered on its own accord. He placed a line of warm kisses against her neck and the curve to her shoulder, mumbling a groggy 'good morning' to her. She hated herself a bit for relaxing into his body and enjoying the affection.
He coaxed her over onto her back, leaning over her so he could capture her lips. This morning he tasted of desire, hunger and... contentment. It was a sweet combination that curled her toes as one hand came up to tangle into his messy curls.
There was a solid knock on the door, snapping her back to her senses. Monroe growled at the interruption and turned his head to bark, “What!?”
The person on the other side hesitated. “Excuse the interruption, Sir, but you wanted to be told when the courier from the Georgian border arrived.”
Before she could stop herself, Charlie poked him in the bicep and whispered, “Be nice.” He swung his eyes back to her, arching a brow at her. She shrugged and whispered, “Sorry”.
He took a breath and turned his head back towards the door. “Thank you. Have him escorted to my office. I'll be down shortly.”
“Yes, Sir.” Footsteps hurried away.
Bass looked back at her. “Well?”
She tried to keep from grinning. “Good boy.” He growled and gave a playful, snarling bite to her neck, making her giggle. “Get off. You have work to do.”
“I was going to get off, but my job just cock blocked me.” He kissed her again before getting up from the bed. She was still trying to stop the giggles as she got up herself, looking for where they may have thrown her panties the night before. Before she could ask they smacked her arm from Bass' expert toss.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” Though he was trying to keep a light tone, there was a tenseness about his eyes.
“You're worried about General Matheson, aren't you?”
He met her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. I know he couldn't possibly have made it to the front, yet, but he'll get there eventually.” He was buttoning his jacket. “And then he'll be right in the thick of everything.”
She knew the feeling. Every time she and the boys went out, there was a chance some of them wouldn't come back. So far she'd be lucky. She hadn't lost a man yet, though there had been some awful rough scrapes.
“You know,” she started as she pulled on her slacks and fastened them, “with his sour puss the Georgians will probably wet themselves and turn tail the moment he steps on the field.”
Bass gave a single chuff. “Yeah, sometimes I think that's how he wins at least half his battles.” He turned around and watched her finish getting dressed before he came over to her and put his hands on her waist, pulling her into him. “Thank you for that.” He gave her a soft kiss that got a little deeper until she pushed him away gently.
“The courier?”
He sighed. “You know, we've really got to work on your priorities. This all work and no play kick of yours is really robbing you of some fun moments.”
“I'm still not having sex with you on your desk.”
“Why not?”
“Your windows don't have any curtains.” He just gave her a wicked grin in answer. She rolled her eyes at him and turned him around before giving him a shove towards the door “Get to work, Mr. President.”
He did leave that time, letting her braid her hair in peace. Something told her that those orders wouldn't be ready today, either. Once she was up to code she left his quarters and let herself out to go to her men and see if they'd managed to be clearheaded for a fifth day in a row.
She got to the barracks to find them packing, and none of them looking happy. “What's going on?” Trent caught her eyes then walked over to hand her a sheaf of orders.
“We're being sent back to St. Louis, to be appointed a new CO when we get there.”
“What?!” She looked over every page. There were orders for all twelve of her men, but none for her, and each one said that they would be getting a new commanding officer. “That overbearing, son-of-a-bitch.” She slammed the orders against her thigh, rage bubbling up inside her. “Stay here. No one goes anywhere until I say otherwise. Got it?”
There was a chorus of “Yes, Ma'am!” as she turned and walked back out of the barracks. She barely noticed that she was walking back to Liberty Hall, though that was her destination. The guards let her in without hesitation, a benefit of being the President's latest bed warmer, no doubt. The courier was just leaving as she asked the guard at the door to inquire as to whether or not President Monroe would see her.
She was inside the office in less than a minute, the doors shutting behind her. Monroe smiled at her as she came in. “Any chance you've changed your mind about the desk?”
She ignored the tingling feeling that shot through her at the suggestion. “No, Sir, I haven't.”
“What's on your mind, then?”
She held up the orders. “My men are being sent back to St. Louis without me?”
“Ah, yes, I was going to discuss that with you later today. A position has opened up here in Philadelphia.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “You've done such an excellent job with your men I'd like to have you at the Academy.”
“The Academy,” she repeated. She lowered the orders to her side, tapping the paper against her thigh. “Sir, I believe when this started, I advised that I was not the kind of woman who slept her way up the ranks.”
“You were the kind of woman who hadn't slept with anyone. No one knows that better than I.” There was something dark and possessive in his gaze as he said that. As though he felt he owned her. Technically, since she was still in the Militia, he did. She tried not to think about that too much.
“Sir, if you put me at the Academy, no achievement I ever earn will be without the taint of favoritism, real or imagined.”
“You don't have to worry about that, Christina.”
“With all due respect, Sir, you don't have to worry about that.”
Monroe paused, his brow furrowed a bit. “Meaning?”
“I see how the other men look at me. I hear the other female militia members sniggering and whispering behind their hands. My own men are two steps away from getting into all out brawl because they're furious over people placing bets as to how long it's going to be until you get tired of me.” She took a step towards the desk. “No one is going to say anything about you, because your President Monroe. You're the top of the heap. Captain Matthews is fair game.”
He seemed disturbed by this. Genuinely disturbed. “I hadn't realized that such things were happening.”
She pushed down the tight knot in her chest, refusing to buckle on this. “Everything I have accomplished since my conscription, I have managed on my own. From raw recruit to corporal to sergeant. Dixon only bumped me up to lieutenant because he wanted me to have the authority so that he could put a squad under me. He would have only pushed for me to make captain if he had intentions to increase that responsibility.”
His gaze grew distant. “Are you saying you want to go back to the border? Most people are trying to get assigned away from the front, not put themselves in a position where violence could erupt at any moment.”
“I'm saying I'm more valuable to you on the border. Far more useful than in a classroom.”
“All right, I'm listening.”
That was a start. “Do you know why we there's a resistance against the Republic?”
“Because someone is always unhappy about something.”
“And sometimes they have a reason to be.” He quirked a brow at her. “I'm from the outer territory. I know what happens the further you get away from Philadelphia.”
“And that would be?”
“The further you get away from Philadelphia, the more the Militia becomes just as bad as the people they're supposed to be protecting the citizens from. If not worse. The outer garrisons don't just tax, they over tax. Don't believe me, check out how pudgy some of your officers out that way are getting. And the soldiers? They're coming out of those conscription camps thinking that being part of the Militia is to have a license to be a bully and to take whatever you want. Someone trips and falls in your way? Beat the crap out of him. That pretty girl doesn't want you? Push her against the wall, hike up her skirts and take what you want. That's why you have a resistance. Lack of discipline. Lack of morals. A lack of trust from the citizens in the Militia because from what they see, the Militia isn't any different than the bandits and the raiders and the chaos. I know this. I lived this.”
He was listening to her, rubbing his lips with the fingers of one hand in an unconscious gesture. “What would you suggest?”
“My men are good. Not just soldiers, but good men... with the exception of one idiot who can't keep it in his pants when he's away from home. But they didn't come that way. They were just as jacked up as all the others coming out of those camps, like the majority of the ones that came out of mine. I refused to put up with it. It took a few months but I managed to cram that Code of Conduct they all seem to forget once they get out into the field down their throats. When my squad comes into a town, the people know they'll be treated fairly. We show up and they know we're there to help and protect them. You let me go back to St. Louis, give me a whole platoon, and I'll start cutting the legs out from under the resistance on the Plains border. I'll start repairing the damage done between citizens and Militia, and the resistance will start to lose their supporters.”
He kept his eyes locked with hers. She could almost see the internal struggle going on in his mind. He didn't want to let her go. Part of her, a very large part, didn't want to go. But she had to get out of this city and away from him. She had to get out before he managed to consume her, until there was nothing left but what he wanted, only to be cast aside for someone else and left broken on the cobblestones.
“All right.” He sat up and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He started writing in quick, efficient strokes. “Bear in mind, this isn't want I want. But you've got me curious.” He signed the page and took out the wax and seal that would confirm it was from his desk. “I'll want to see results. If not, you're transferred back here.”
The knot inside her relaxed. “If Colonel Dixon was thorough in his reports, then he would have included that I always deliver.”
A slight smile jerked at one corner of his mouth. “I remember reading something akin to that.” He pressed the seal into the hot wax. She waited for him to hand it to her, but he got up from his desk instead and walked around to her. He held up the page. “I really don't want to give you this.”
“You'll get more out of me if you let me go than you would stuffing me into some dingy office at the Academy.”
“We'll see.” He lifted his other hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a long, branding kiss before letting her hand the new orders. “Have a safe journey.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She snapped her heels together before turning away and walking with calm, measured steps from the office. She managed not to run back to the barracks, but she did throw open the door to her boys' floor with a bang.
“I want to hear that none of you had to be told to pack my gear too.”
Trent grinned up at her. “Already in the wagon, Captain.”
“Good. Let's go before he changes his mind.”