Page 22 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"Direct assault on their primary depot. Cut off their supply lines, force them to stretch resources defending multiple positions."

"Tactically complex operation. Requires significant planning and coordination." His tone suggests skepticism about my ability to manage either.

"Which is why I'm announcing it tonight. Give people time to prepare mentally before we move."

"When?"

"Two days. Dawn assault, coordinated with diversionary actions on their eastern positions."

Kaelgor steps forward, his expression carefully neutral. "With respect, Commander, two days isn't sufficient preparation time for an operation of that scope."

"It's adequate if we move fast and keep the force small. Speed over overwhelming strength."

"The depot is heavily fortified. Small force means higher casualty rates."

"Small force means better operational security. Lower chance of intelligence leaks." I let my gaze sweep the circle of listeners, noting who pays attention and who seems to avoid eye contact.

"Intelligence leaks aren't our primary concern," Kaelgor argues, his voice carrying just the right note of frustration. "Soldier survival should be."

"Soldier survival depends on eliminating threats before they can organize effective countermeasures." The words taste like strategy manual doctrine, but they serve their purpose. "The Bloodfang depot represents a significant strategic target."

"It also represents a potential death trap for anyone foolish enough to assault it without proper preparation."

The exchange is drawing attention now, other conversations quieting as people tune in to what sounds like a genuine disagreement between allied commanders. Perfect.

"Are you questioning my tactical judgment?" I let an edge creep into my voice, a professional coldness that suggests personal offense.

"I'm questioning the wisdom of risking lives for what amounts to a revenge operation."

"Revenge?" The word comes out sharper than intended, carrying enough genuine anger to make the performance convincing. "This is strategic necessity. The Bloodfang have killed dozens of our people in the last month."

"And rushing into a poorly planned assault will kill dozens more."

"Then what do you suggest? Continue letting them pick us apart while we debate optimal force composition?"

Heldrik watches this exchange with visible satisfaction, clearly enjoying what he perceives as conflict between his niece and her orc ally. I can practically see him calculating how to exploit the apparent rift.

"I suggest proper reconnaissance, detailed planning, and coordinated action with sufficient force to ensure success," Kaelgor says evenly.

"We don't have time for extended planning cycles. Every day we wait, they strengthen their positions and plan more attacks on our supply lines."

"Better to take time now than to waste lives on a doomed operation."

The circle has gone completely quiet now, everyone focused on what appears to be a fundamental disagreement about tactics and priorities. I let the silence stretch for a moment before responding.

"My decision is final. We move in two days, dawn assault, minimal force for maximum speed and surprise." I turn to address the broader group. "Volunteers only. Anyone who thinks the operation is too risky is free to remain in camp."

"Ressa." Kaelgor's use of my first name in public carries implications of informality that will fuel gossip for days. "Don't let personal feelings cloud professional judgment."

"My feelings have nothing to do with this decision."

"Don't they?"

The question hangs in the air like a challenge, loaded with a subtext that everyone present will interpret according to their own assumptions about what's happening between us.

I can see the speculation on their faces, the quick glances and subtle expressions that suggest rumors are already forming.

"My feelings," I say carefully, "are that dead soldiers deserve justice. And that justice requires action, not endless debate about optimal timing."

"Justice and vengeance aren't the same thing."

"Tell that to Sean's sister when she asks why we didn't do everything possible to prevent more attacks like the one that killed him."

That stops the argument cold, invoking today's casualties in a way that makes continued objection seem callous. Kaelgor's expression shifts slightly, and I catch a flicker of what might be genuine concern beneath the performance.

"Two days," I repeat firmly. "Anyone who wants to volunteer can find me after evening formation. Anyone who thinks it's a bad idea is welcome to their opinion."

I turn and walk away before anyone can respond, leaving behind a circle of subdued conversation and speculation. As I reach the edge of the firelight, I hear Heldrik's voice rising above the murmur.

"Emotional decision-making. Exactly what I warned the council about."

Perfect.

I make my way to the command tent, ostensibly to review operational details but actually to see who follows. If the spy is present, they'll need to report this development quickly. Emergency intelligence about a potentially disastrous operation takes priority over maintaining cover.

The tent is empty when I arrive, oil lamps casting dancing shadows on the canvas walls. I spread tactical maps across the planning table and begin marking positions, creating the appearance of detailed preparation while actually listening for footsteps outside.

Ten minutes pass before I hear voices approaching. Not footsteps exactly, but the indistinct murmur of people trying to move quietly through camp. I douse the lamp and position myself where I can see the tent entrance without being easily spotted.

Two figures slip between the tent lines, moving with the careful stealth of people who don't want to be observed. Even in the dim light, I recognize one of them immediately.

Varrick. The sentry from this afternoon, one soldier I've fought beside for months.

The second figure is harder to identify, partially concealed by shadows and distance. But when they pause near Heldrik's pavilion, a shift in the light reveals familiar features.

Jon. The other sentry from the perimeter. Both of them, working together, selling information that got three of my soldiers killed.

How long? The question tears through my mind with vicious intensity. How many operations compromised? How many deaths could have been prevented?

But anger is a luxury I can't afford right now. This is intelligence that needs to be acted upon carefully, strategically. The network is bigger than just these two. They're reporting to someone, following orders from a higher authority.

I watch as they approach Heldrik's tent, confirm that he's inside, then retreat to what looks like a predetermined meeting point near the supply depot. Too far to hear conversation, but close enough to observe the exchange of what appears to be written materials.

Got you.

The next phase requires patience and coordination. I need to follow without being detected, identify additional network members, and gather enough evidence to expose the entire operation. But I also need backup I can trust absolutely, which limits options significantly.

Kaelgor appears at the tent entrance as if summoned by my thoughts, moving quietly despite his injuries.

"Learn anything interesting?" he asks softly.

"More than I wanted to." I gesture toward the figures near the supply depot. "Varrick and Jon. Both of them."

His expression hardens. "Confirmed?"

"I watched them report to Heldrik personally. Emergency intelligence about the raid announcement."

"How do you want to handle it?"

"Carefully. They're not the end of the chain, just links. We need to see where the information goes next." I check the positions of the sentries, making sure we're not being observed. "But that means following them when they make their next move."

"Tonight?"

"Has to be. Intelligence this significant gets passed up the chain immediately, especially if it involves potential disaster for our forces."

Kaelgor nods slowly. "I'm with you."

"You're injured. This requires stealth and mobility."

"I'm functional. And you need backup you can trust absolutely." His eyes meet mine directly. "Unless you've identified other candidates."

The honest answer is no. The revelation about Varrick and Jon has shaken my confidence in everyone else, leaving me doubting loyalties I've taken for granted. Kaelgor might be injured, but he's also the only person in camp whose motivations I understand completely.

"Alright. But we do this smart. No unnecessary risks, no heroic gestures. Information gathering only."

"Agreed."

"And if something goes wrong, if we're discovered or separated..."

"We adapt. Survive. Complete the mission."

The words are a military doctrine, but underneath I hear something more personal. A promise that goes beyond operational objectives.

I extend my hand, and he clasps it firmly. His grip is warm despite the cool evening air, callused from weapons training but gentle enough to remind me that strength doesn't require brutality.

"Partners?" I ask.

"Partners."

The pact sealed at sunrise feels like a lifetime ago, but this moment carries similar weight. Different stakes, but the same fundamental choice to trust despite uncertainty.

"Let's go catch some traitors."