The Blame Game

Saturday, December 4th

Supplies: Low

Morale: Wavering

The troops' morale is wavering. It has been since yesterday. The near invasion of the fort left most men on edge; they fear another attack, one they're unprepared for. Other men exhibit concern for their injured comrade. Most have practical concerns, one has emotional concerns. Captain Hopkins hasn't personally visited Foster yet, but everytime he sees me, he asks about him. One does grow tired of pesky questions. After the fifth or sixth time, I told Hopkins to go visit Foster himself if he was so worried. Whether or not he will take up on my offer, I do not know.

Speaking of Foster, his injuries are healing cleanly. Bandages are to be changed every twelve hours in order to eliminate any risks of infection. Using previous rations I had moused away, I tried to feed him double provisions, but he refuses to eat it, arguing that I shouldn't be wasting so much food. We've settled on one third rather than double.

A soldier named Devin Fox has been chosen to replace Foster as nighttime guard. I do not know much about him or his reputation, but Foster speaks highly of Mr. Fox. He claims he and Fox trained together, and although he is not as close to Fox as he is to Hopkins, they are good acquaintances. Nevertheless, I asked Captain Hopkins to assign a second soldier to nighttime duty, Rodney Turner, I believe he chose. I do not have as much faith in Fox's abilities alone as I did Foster's, and I do not wish to risk another attempted invasion. There are only so many beds in the infirmary.

Monday, December 6th

Supplies: Low

Morale: High

Hopkins' mood has improved with Foster on the mend. Good. He keeps the fort in high spirits, and it's better to face death with a smile than a frown.

Fox has visited Foster twice now. That's twice more than the Captain has. I still cannot understand why Hopkins is reluctant to visit. It's clear he cares for his friend, yet he acts on it. Perhaps that is a common thing among soldiers, attachment being seen as a form of weakness. Fox, anyways, is a chatty fellow, his mouth never stops running. And while normally, I would have kicked him from the office the second he walked in, Foster needs the social interaction. Since Captain Hopkins refuses to visit, Fox will have to serve as his substitute, and thus I shall tolerate his incessant talking.

Overall conditions are deteriorating. Despite rationing, our provisions will run dry within the next few days. Hopkins hasn't yet mentioned it to the troops. I haven't yet mentioned it to Foster. He needs the energy to recover, and I fear he may stop eating entirely if he learns of the current situation. Ignorance is bliss, they say, and it applies heavily to our current scenario. Furthermore, the temperature continues to drop. Water does not yet freeze, but I suspect that will not be the case much longer.

Wednesday, December 8th

Supplies: Low

Morale: Low

I went to fetch water today, and to my horror, when I pulled up the bucket from the well, the water was tainted red and smelled faintly of decay. I reported the foul water to Hopkins, and he immediately began an investigation. Our water source had been compromised and our survival, which was already uncertain to begin with, was in peril. As it turns out, a possum had fallen into the well and drowned. Its corpse rotted, thus contaminating the water. The possum appeared about a week into the decay process. How come we hadn't noticed it earlier? I'll need to keep an eye on the troops for symptoms of illness, and in the meantime, pray for salvation. Water ran out today. Food goes tomorrow. Life will follow soon.

Thursday, December 9th

Supplies: Gone

Morale: Low

We've killed the last horse, though currently, starvation isn't our deadliest threat. One can survive a week without food, but only four days without water. I feared the first snowfall before, but now I pray it comes soon.

Captain Hopkins tries his best to keep the troops positive, but it's clear he's losing hope as well. His surety falters, his confidence wavers, his troops are one and the same.

Foster has a slight temperature, though he's adamant it isn't anything serious. I'm certain he's come down with something. I've kept his wounds clean; it can't be an infection. I'm placing my bets on a water borne disease from the well, specifically. I'll attempt to minimize its spread, but stopping it entirely is impossible. Foster is its first case, and he won't be its last.

Friday, December 10th

Supplies: Gone

Morale: Low

The disease runs rampant, and in close quarters, it spreads fast. I've documented eleven cases so far. That's shy of half the soldiers in our fort. Fever appears to be the predominant symptom, though cramping, nausea, and general malaise are also common. I'm providing as much relief as I can through herbal remedies and medicaments, but nothing works as effectively as I would like. Foster has gotten worse, but now that he's learned of the outbreak, he's refusing treatment...as best he can. He is conscious for occasional, thirty minute intervals, but during his unconscious hours, he cannot resist the aid I give him. Foster deteriorated faster than other soldiers did, and I assume his injuries were at fault for that. It's difficult for the body to handle two conditions at once.

I informed Captain Hopkins of Foster's ailing. He didn't take it too kindly. It was another stone placed on his already broken back. The Captain's health, though it may not seem like it, is also crumbling. With everything that's happened, these past few days have been especially taxing and the stress of our situation has finally caught up to him. I don't believe he was prepared to lead. The switch in leadership was so abrupt, and he had no experience other than whatever he had witnessed prior. This is difficult for him, and I'm surprised he has managed to hold it together for so long.

On the bright side of things, snow has fallen. Our water shortage has been addressed, and we need not worry about that anymore. Starvation and freezing, on the other hand, are still a persistent menace.

Saturday, December 11th

Supplies: Gone

Morale: Low

There is a traitor in our midst. I had stepped outside for half an hour; I needed to clear my head, get some fresh air. I left Foster asleep in the office. When I returned, the medical cabinet was ransacked. Bottles smashed, herbs shredded. Fortunately, Foster was awake and unharmed, but he couldn't say who the culprit was. The fever fogs his brain. He feels guilty, yet nobody has blamed him. Nobody should have blamed him. I suspect the poisoning of our well water was also a sabotage attempt. Whether these acts were performed by the same person or a group of many remains to be seen.

Captain Hopkins is holding a mandatory meeting in the bailey this afternoon to discuss these sabotages and many other harrowing things, I assume. It has crossed my mind that at this meeting, I propose the option of surrender. At some point, one must consider whether glory or life is more important, and I believe we are reaching that point at a rapid speed. Provisions gone, water poisoned, disease abound… Surely, whatever the enemy will do to their surrendered foes cannot be much worse than what we endure now. I will take that risk.

Sanford set his quill down and closed the journal only to reopen it a moment later when he realized the ink was still wet. The black ink had smeared on the pages, smudging his words. It was still legible, but it no longer had that professional look. Sanford slammed the journal shut again, swearing at himself.

"Are you leaving for the meeting?"

Sanford raised his brows. "You're awake?"

"For now," Foster said.

Sanford walked to Foster's bedside and placed the back of his hand against his forehead. His skin was flushed and hot to the touch, but damp from excessive sweating. He wasn't improving, but he wasn't getting worse either. "Will you be alright alone?" Sanford asked.

Foster nodded and Sanford left to check on his other patients. Only two others had gotten as bad as Foster did, which was fortunate. Any more and there wouldn't be enough resources to care for them all. Once he determined the ill would be fine if he left, Sanford slipped into a coat and left the office.

Captain Hopkins stood upon a crate in the bailey, facing the shivering, disheveled crowd. "It was an act of dishonor and savagery," Hopkins said, "and he who thought it would be permissible to wreck further havoc on the ill, shame on you. I promise you this, you'll pay for your crimes. If anyone has any sort of information, please speak now."

At that moment, Rodney Turner, the second nighttime guard, stepped forward and pointed at Devin Fox. "It's him. He's the traitor."

Fox's jaw dropped. "Me? You're accusing me? But I—"

Turner advanced on Fox. "You killed that possum. I know you did. I saw you."

"The possum was ransacking our provisions," Fox said. "I had to kill it."

"But you didn't have to throw it in our well."

"I didn't—"

He shoved Fox to the ground. "You did. You know you did."

The Captain still had yet to intervene, though to be fair, the interrogation did appear to be carrying out itself. It wasn't in the most orderly or peaceful of ways, but skeletons in the cupboard were being brought to light.

Fox got back to his feet, brushing down his pants. "I don't know who you are to accuse me of treason," he said. "I have done nothing but express loyalty and allegiance to my kingdom and to the Captain."

"Then who else would it be, Fox?"

Fox laughed, almost amusedly, before letting out a long sigh. "I don't know, Turner," he said. "How about...you?"

Turner scoffed. "Now you're just trying to play the blame game."

"Am I? Then explain your nightly endeavors."

Turner went rigid as all eyes turned to him. Sanford glanced at the Captain, wanting to gauge his reactions. His face gave away nothing, but his hands said everything. The skin on his thumb had been peeled off, a sure sign of high stress and anxiety. Hopkins was panicking, and Sanford didn't blame him. These were people the Captain had been with for months. They ate together, trained together, suffered together. Now, they had turned against one another, and one of them, against the kingdom. An act of treason was punishable by death. Hopkins' first official decree as Captain would be ordering one of these men to hang.

It was Fox's turn to make an advance. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice your absences?" he said. "You disappear for ten minutes every night. Where do you go? What do you do?"

"That's nothing." Turner's face contorted into a snarl. "Wait, you dog, stop putting the blame on me! You're the one at fault. You're the traitor!"

"Turner." Hopkins stepped down from the crate, and the soldier whirled around. "Turner," the Captain repeated, "You're hiding something."

"I didn't betray my kingdom," Turner said. "I didn't. I wouldn't."

Hopkins took a step towards him. "What were you doing?"

With a heavy sigh, Turner dropped his gaze to the ground. "I stole extra food." Gasps and whispers rippled throughout the soldiers. "I was starving. I figured it wouldn't hurt anybody if I just took a little bit more."

"There are injured people who needed that food more than you did," Fox said. "How could you be so selfish?"

"Oh, you're one to talk," Turner retorted. "You poisoned our water supply."

"I didn't—"

"Or what about destroying the medicine cabinet? I'll bet that was you too."

"I went to the infirmary to visit a friend."

"A friend?" He scoffed. "You don't—"

"No, he speaks the truth," Sanford interjected, stepping forward. "Mr. Fox visits Mr. Foster on the regular."

The crowd murmured, turning their gazes to Hopkins for further direction. The Captain shifted his weight to one leg, and then the other as uncertainty played in his eyes. Sanford pitied him. Rarely were leaders forced to confront acts of treason. Even rarer so early in their career. The troops wanted Hopkins to fix the problem, yet he didn't know how to.

Hopkins cast a glance at Turner.

"No." Turner took a step back, holding his hands up. "I'm no traitor!"

Suddenly, a volley of arrows flew over the fortress walls, raining down the unsuspecting troops.

"Take cover!"

Soldiers were struck left and right before they could seek shelter. Their numbers were quickly cut down. Sanford made a dash for cover, sprinting for the fortress walls.

"Doctor, look out!"

Somebody tackled him, shoving him out of an arrow's path. Fox, he realized. Sanford scrambled to his feet and pressed his back up against the walls as a second volley came down. Fox stood beside him, equally shaken.

"Thank you," Sanford breathed.

Fox could only manage a nod.

When he was certain no more arrows would be launched, Sanford stepped away from the wall. He crouched beside one of the fallen soldiers. He lay face down, and arrows protruded from his body as if he were a pin cushion. Sanford glanced around the bailey. Six.

Six men fell victim to the ambush.

One man was going to pay.

"He told them." Turner stumbled forward, towards Fox. "He knew we'd all be exposed in the bailey. He knew—"

Hopkins slammed his fist into Turner's jaw. "God dammit, just shut up already!"

Turner reeled back, gingerly touching the place he had been hit, and then he stiffened. "You don't believe me."

"Hell, if I did," Hopkins said. "Fox saved the doctor just now. That doesn't seem like something a traitor would do, now does it?"

"I do what I must," Fox said, his voice tight. He turned to Turner. "Even if you think otherwise."

Sanford thought he saw something flicker behind Fox's eyes, but he couldn't discern what it was. Sanford bit down on his tongue. He wasn't fond of such uncertainty.

A dry laugh pulled Sanford from his thoughts. "You don't realize it, do you, Captain?" Turner said. "Fox has tricked you. He's tricked all of you. I'm the only one who sees through his lies. I'm the only one who—"

A tremor shook the fort and the wooden gates groaned in protest.

"What was that?" Hopkins asked.

A second, audible thud echoed as a battering ram slammed into the gates.

Sanford pressed his mouth into a thin line, swallowing back his unease. "They're breaking down the gates."