Cleanser Camp Fortitude
3 km NNW of Älvdalen
Late Summer--Beginning of Cleanse Cycle 77
Emil watched the forest burn from the supposed “safety” of the camp. He had been put on rear-guard duty again, as he had every day since his return from the PR tour following the Mission. It wasn’t so bad, or so he kept telling himself.
Since his return to the unit, he’d decided to take a page from Lalli’s book and be quiet but competent (aside from one outburst when he’d reported to the Captain), not that any of his fellows were any more eager for his company than they had been before he left.
Something skittered through the bushes, and the horses whickered nervously.
*
“Stop hanging back, Svenson! Västerström would be back at camp faster than you!” The Captain’s jibe had its desired effect: as the others chuckled, the lagging Cleanser loped forward to rejoin the group.
Västerström. What was the Captain to do with him? When he’d returned, she’d sneered at him, suggesting that while he might be expecting better treatment now that he was famous, he’d be mistaken. She’d expected a mortified babble of denials as she crushed his spirit further.
But instead of flushing in embarrassment as he would have once, the little snot had dared to look her in the eye as he’d told her that he knew she’d hated him from the first day he’d been assigned to her, and that he didn’t expect it to change any time soon.
When she’d told him to watch his tongue, Västerström had actually laughed. “Or what?” he’d asked, his tone bitter. “Will you put me on permanent latrine duty, as I am anyway? Will you leave me behind to guard the camp instead of seeing action, as you always do anyway? Will you encourage the others in their little persecutions, as you do anyway?”
On that, Västerström had turned and left her office, without waiting to be dismissed.
Now, the Captain had to figure out what more she could do to him, as she wouldn’t let such talk pass unpunished.
They were still laughing as they approached the camp, until they saw the bloody corpse on the trail. It was a troll, but so large as to be only just shy of Giant-hood, and it was very dead. Not a few wounds marked the corpse, but the most impressive was the fatal wound: a single stab right through what had once been its forehead.
Västerström was waiting for them at the perimeter. Just for a moment as they emerged from the trees, the Captain thought she saw a flash of sunlight off a naked blade in his hand, but it vanished too quickly for her to be sure.
“There are two others on the far side of camp,” he reported. “They tried to attack from both sides at once, but Misu-Misu held the one off long enough for me to take the others down.” Misu-Misu was the unit’s Grade B vermin-Beast control cat.
He said nothing else, simply waiting to be dismissed. Bemused, the Captain did so, and he left.
Once he was gone, some of the others half-heartedly tried to scoff at the notion of Västerström taking down three trolls by himself; but the dead trolls were right there, and only Västerström had been in place to kill them.
*
It wasn’t long after their return to base that the next incident happened, and at the worst possible time. The Captain was entertaining a higher-up who had yet to reveal the reasons for his visit, so she was already a bit on edge.
They were strolling over to the Officers’ Mess when it happened, in full view of the VIP. Västerström had just started down the stairs when Wittenden came up behind him and gave him a shove that should have sent him sprawling in the mud.
Instead, Västerström spun around, grabbing Wittenden’s outstretched hand--and stabbed Wittenden in the belly as the two tumbled into the mud.
Fortunately for Wittenden, Svenson and Klausen raced up to grab Västerström’s arms before he could cut Wittenden’s head off.
No one looking at Västerström in that moment would have doubted that he’d killed those three trolls by himself.
“Well,” the higher-up said flatly. The Captain jumped, having forgotten his presence until then. “I had hoped that my source was mistaken, but it seems they weren’t.”
What?
The Captain looked at the emissary from on high, and realized that he was trembling with anger. She was about to apologize and assure him that Västerström would be severely disciplined for this when he spoke again.
“I was told to investigate rumors that your unit was utterly lacking in cohesion and camaraderie; that this was exemplified in your tacit approval of a campaign of persecution against one of your own; and that internecine violence was inevitable as a result. I pooh-poohed the notion, but I came here anyway, and what do I find? One of your Cleansers assaulted another, who defended himself--perhaps too vigorously at the end, but that first blow was self-defense.”
The Captain was still stammering protests when the higher-up told her, “Cleanser Västerström is herewith removed from your command; I shall assume responsibility for him and escort him back to Mora. You have not heard the end of this.”
*
The Captain was “temporarily” removed from command and assigned to observe another unit--as a common Cleanser. After she got over her funk, she actually began to learn a few things about leadership, not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. But when she returned to her unit, she began to put her lessons into practice.
A few cycles later, she saw the posters go up advertising “the Face of the Cleansers” appearing nearby. Västerström’s face beamed at her from each one.
