I often liked to joke I was a man of action, when really I was more a man of strategy. It's true, I did run from my family's legacy to gain renown for battlefield action, and I might be a fine duelist and a steady gun hand, but it's not beyond my pride to admit I would rather be kilometers away from the action and moving troops from intel rather than fighting on the front lines. However, the men would not make light of the story specialist Elara would tell them, nor what occurred when we made it back.  

The ascension was much harsher than sliding down, as you might imagine, but as we were able to help one another, we made it back to the top with little difficulty. The snow had led up a bit, or perhaps it was simply the wind, but I could already make out the silhouette of the main house as we crested the edge of the decline. Elara rubbed her hands, her face sallow from the violence she had seen, but still relishing the chance to warm herself inside. 

"You acquitted yourself well," I told her, trying to be less familiar while still maintaining a positive rapport. 

She gave a mirthless chuckle. "I certainly watched very skillfully." 

No sooner had we arrived, that I received a message on the vox. Elara helped me through a pack of snow as I hailed the message. 

"Sir, corporal Sel is in trouble." Crispin's voice cracked over the static. "I don't know her position, but I have men sweeping the area." 

The question formed on my lips, but I acknowledged without further hesitation and hurried through the thin area of camp as men rushed around me. I knew where she was, or had an idea at least. I had allowed her a moment of respite, and anyone sane would go into the more public areas of the mansion. Elara called my name but I rushed past the guard we had set and took out my laspistol, my lasgun still shouldered. One of my men saluted my approach, only to scramble out of the way as I rammed through the great doors to the front lobby of the mansion. The snow that accompanied my entrance was the only movement, but I heard distant shouts. It sounded as if it were coming from the west wing. I sprinted, cursing myself for a fool. Of course my men would not patrol the inner mansion, and nor would they deem it good to burst in, even when notified of a direct attack. 

I turned the corner just in time to see Sel's hobble break, and my bruised aid crashed to the floor as a bloodied sergeant and two other men followed suit. I recognized one as an officer. An electro-halberd was held by one of the guards, a nasty weapon if it got close to you. The officer was waving about a saber, but the sergeant seemed keen to put his hands on Sel. I shouted for them to stop, but I only received a tirade of accusations and blusters back, all intermingled together to be indecipherable. So in order to speak their language, I fired three shots into the leading sergeant, taking out his legs. He screamed in agony and hit the floor, far harder than Sel had, I was satisfied to acknowledge. 

My aim went directly to the officer, and my look stopped him cold. 

"You struck my man!" He said, aghast. There was the promise of violence in his eyes. "Colonel or no, you'll pay for this."  

"You first." I said evenly, not even deigning to acknowledge the ridiculous 'Colonel.' It was clear they would advance no further, and I knelt down to free Sel. Taking out my boot knife, I cut her bonds. Bruised and concussed, she was still as tough as ever, rising to her feet after a brief shaking of her limbs. "Are you alright?" 

"I think so, sir." She remarked shakily. "Damned parade groun-" Sel stopped herself, but I grinned at the curse. 

"We'll sort it out." I promised her, my eyes on the officer's.