The Major's dissent had become the greatest threat to the Shadow Command's cohesion. His Vigenère messages grew increasingly frantic, criticizing Deacon's reliance on Project Grog and the exposure of field assets. Deacon knew the only way to silence the Major's professional objections was a face-to-face confrontation, but only under the safest cover possible.
Deacon called on Dr. Kelly late that night, feigning a sudden recurrence of the 'head fever' that had incapacitated Lord Cassian days ago.
Dr. Kelly (Major Kiley) ushered Deacon into his small, private study, which served as his office. The room was dominated by medical sketches of human anatomy—a chilling reminder of the body Kiley now occupied.
"Sit down, My Lord," Kiley ordered, his voice flat. He administered a local medieval remedy—a poultice of herbs applied to the temples. As he worked, their voices were low and masked by the cover of a medical examination.
"Your strategic decisions are fundamentally unsound, Sergeant," Kiley whispered, his pale fingers pressing against Deacon's temple. "You have three platoons of infantry scattered across a medieval city, and you waste their time building firecrackers and mud walls. We should be consolidating our best men, acquiring the best medieval steel, and using flanking maneuvers—the only thing this world understands."
"And who will hold the city while we flank, Major?" Deacon hissed back, maintaining the closed-eye posture of the patient. "You want to run a war with the resources we wish we had. I am running a defense with the resources we have. We have no steel; we have no high-grade explosives. We have shock and fear. Project Grog gives us that."
"It gives us a catastrophic failure, Hayes! That powder is unstable. If one bottle ignites in the crowded alleyways, you will kill more civilians than the Goblins will! You are exceeding your rank! You were an S-4, Hayes, not an operations officer!" Kiley's hands were trembling slightly.
Deacon opened his eyes and stared at the Major. He dropped all pretense of rank. "Mack. Look at me. I'm wearing the skin of a man who died terrified and alone. I'm commanding a militia of starving farmers. Thorne is catatonic, and Miller is covered in sewage. You are the only person here who remembers what it means to be a Commanding Officer. Your orders are to keep this town medically functional and psychologically stable. I am executing the defense."
The use of the Major's familiar name, 'Mack,' cut through the military barrier and hit the Major's core trauma. Kiley's face twisted in pain.
"I can't just stand by, Hayes. I can't just be a doctor," Kiley pleaded, his voice cracking.
"You are S-5, Sir. You are essential. You saved Thorne. You gave me the codes. You are running the only organized medical network this city has ever seen," Deacon stated firmly. "The second Project Grog ignites, the casualties will be severe. Your mission is to be ready. I need your surgical expertise, your triage knowledge, and your ability to keep the wounded fighting. That is more vital than flanking."
Deacon stood up. He had appealed to the Major's sense of duty, while simultaneously reminding him of his current limitations and his true, essential value.
"Your fever is broken, My Lord," Kiley whispered, resuming his cover. "But you are weak. You require frequent rest."
"Rest is a luxury, Doctor," Deacon replied, pulling his cloak on. "The Goblins don't take weekends. Give me an update on the DUST BA acquisition."
Kiley handed him a small, tightly folded medical note. It read: P-E-P-P-E-R. Two individuals identified. Confirmed proficiency in stealth and close-quarters combat. Cover: spice merchants' apprentices. Highly loyal to the coin. —K.
The Major had identified two more potential Shadow Command assets—likely his missing S-1/S-2 personnel—but they were mercenary in nature. Deacon now had to buy their loyalty with Oakhaven's depleted coin.
"Keep gathering, Major. We need every asset," Deacon said, then slipped back into the night, leaving Kiley simmering in the agonizing dilemma of being a commander forbidden to command.