6th of Saun 722
The briefing from the Platoon sergeant was thorough, labored, and hard to listen to at times. To one whose ears were refined to take in the beauty of sound, the gravel voice of this Sergeant was an affront to all sounds that carried on the air. As Kal followed the air waves with his eyes, he thought they even looked ugly. If only these other soldiers knew the spectacularly grotesque display they were missing out on...
The briefing concerned the unwillingness to cooperate, and further flat resistance toward the Empire that the tribes of the Northern Hotlands presented to their every move in that region. There was no open hostility or physical altercations... yet. If there had, the only option in Kal's opinion would be all out war. He didn't know much about the Hotlands tribe, but what he'd heard from his father (who fought in the Nashaki conflict) was that the nomads were implacable once blow had been traded. The Nomadic tribes would not yield until their enemy was ground into the dust of the desert, or until they were so hurt that they roamed to their hideouts, where the Imperials would suffer egregious losses trying to pursue in spite of their superior numbers. Nay, perhaps even because of them.
Kal wasn't much of a head for tactics, but he could recognize that feuding with an indigenous people in their own native harsh environment, known better to that people than their benevolent 'liberators', was a sure way for a large force to march into a clusterfuck.
The Sergeant finished by expounding on the importance of the mission, to soften the disposition of these tribes enough that they would feel compelled to cooperate. Kal's mouth twisted at that. Tribals respected those who they saw as the same kind. And while Kal believed the tribals probably had more in common with the hard-line Imperials and their martial ways, as opposed to the merchant princes of Nashaki who rested and fanned themselves on silken pillows, engaging in soft, cajoling diplomacy wouldn't earn them the respect or recognition they were after, either.
Finally, the Sergeant opened the floor to suggestions. There were rumblings among them, but before anyone could think to come forward, Kal had his ideas fresh in his mind, and stepped ahead, clearing his throat. "You are Imperials. The best fighters and most organized and technologically advanced on the Eastern Continent."
The Sergeant gave him a weary look, as if to ask "and where has that gotten us with these nomads?"
"As far as you're willing to show what you are, and not hide behind sweet treats and gifts, trying to placate the Nomads like children? Insulting them? After Trampling on their land on a wild goose chase toward Anox' Folly."
Oh yes, that gossip was well out of the bag by the time Kal had landed in the Empire. It didn't take much spycraft to overhear a snatch of conversation here or there in the barracks. And the Empire's adventurism at that fracture had been well known by now. At least in these parts.
"This is my briefing, Private Elmdor." Sergeant grumbled, "Get to the point, or let others speak their minds."
"The Nomads respect survival, mastery over the environment, and the beasts of this land. I beg leave to ask a question."
The Sergeant sighed, "Granted."
"What have you done for the Nomads since there, other than present them with gifts and dangle riches before tribal leaders?"
"We've chased bandits out of their territory, we've protected them from the continued predations of Athart and Nashaki's raiding parties. We've been their shield in this blasted land."
Kal thought on that for a moment, and then nodded, "A show of force against mutual enemies, this is conventional wisdom suited to getting the trust of settled people. But the nomads are not conventional. Give them something to rally to, though, a sense that they're struggling for their own freedom, and they may feel a little less inclined to see us as foreign invaders and more like trusted brothers in arms. Just a thought,."
The Sergeant shook his head, as he leaned over the map of the Northern Hotlands, on its table. Then, one of the officials next to him whispered something into his ears, and his eyes lit up. But Kal thought he could sense a note of malice and deceit as he began addressing Kal. "This isn't a terrible idea. But we cannot commit an entire platoon to that idea."
"Corporal Parr... You are the commander of that squad of fliers?" The Sergeant pointed out Kal, as well as a few of his fellow privates, stalwarts, and warrants. "I want you to put his words to the test, and try to earn the respect of the Yalruti Nomads. Spend the trials with them, learn from them, and if necessary, fight with them." The Sergeant shrugged, as if he didn't really expect much to come of it.
Kal wasn't so short-sighted either, to think that the Nomads would be swayed by a few gestures of this kind, helping in their native environment and shoring up their efforts to eek out a life in the desert. But if they could show progress, a small token of cooperation from the nomads, the Empire might be inclined to follow that protocol.
Kal could only hope, and then, it'd only be a matter of time before the Army was knocking at Athart's back door. Then there would be a reckoning.
