St. Louis Aeroplex - Offices of the Marine Garrison Commander, Colonel Sir Houston Kitchener. Tuesday, February 25th, 3:05pm.

St. Louis Aeroplex – Offices of the Marine Garrison Commander, Colonel Sir Houston Kitchener. Tuesday, February 25th, 3:05pm.

Royal Navy Lieutenant Caroline Moseby jumped at the loud bark of a voice coming through the heavy door of the Aeroplex Marine Commander's office, sending her tea tumbling.

“But Sir, you must stand aside!” the booming voice cried.

She leapt up trying to avoid the running tea, righting her cup.

"I should know better," she admonished herself. She'd been Sir Houston's secretary long enough to know that when the six senior marine officers from the Aeroplex garrison stormed into their commander's office things were going to get loud. The guard sergeant stepped in from the foyer looking concerned.

"It's alright Sergeant," she said holding up a hand and looking at the tea spreading across the papers on her desk and then her navy blue skirt. "At least it's dark so the tea won't show," she thought.

Inside his office, Sir Houston watched the expressions of his adjutant and his senior officers.

"They are after more than your epaulets, Sir!" his East African Askari adjutant, Abdisalaam Tenga barked. "They are out for blood."

“I don’t turn away from a fight, Abdi, you know that,” Houston said. “If there is going to be political bloodshed, I’ll be damned if I’m going shed mine standing on the sidelines.”

His officers were tense. He could see their anger and concern. His adjutant entreated, “Sir, you’ve done everything you can, and more. Stand aside now, while you still can.”

"People are talking about the rope, Sir," Captain Rory Montgomery said. "There's talk that they want to try you for treason."

“Let them try, Rory. My duty is to the King and the Empire. This is wrong. We all know it. This situation creates a more credible and significant threat to the Aeroplex, St. Louis and British America than anything the Ottomans could have concocted. I will not step aside. They will have to burn me out.”

“This isn’t a fight you can win!” snapped his second in command, Major Garrett Murray. “God damn it, Hugh, be smart! If you want to be a martyr or a symbol, fine! But talk to the press!”

“No. That’s what they want. They want me to stand up and take a public position they can try and tear down. I won’t give them any ammunition. When the time comes, I’ll stand at my court martial and give my reasons, but not before.”

There was tense silence. Then the famous Gurkha Captain Bahadur Dipprasad Pun stepped forward, the blood red bar of his Victoria Cross ribbon standing out against his uniform jacket. “Well then, I’m with you, Sir.” He looked at the other officers. “Kaathar hunnu bhanda marnu ramro.”

The other officers nodded their agreement to the Gurkha’s motto “Better to die than to be a coward.”

Bahadur looked at him. “We’re with you, Sir.”

“I know you are, Baha,” Houston said. “But this isn’t something you can help me with. When they finally get what they want, I need you all here. If they burn you down alongside me, the security of the Aeroplex could be compromised. That cannot happen. Do your duty, all of you. When they order you to arrest me, do so, no questions, no prevarications.” He looked at each face. “That is an order.”

They looked unhappy, but acknowledged him with a chorus. “Aye aye, Sir.”