Once again, I have ended up a bit behind of posting a chapter every Tuesday, but I'm here now! Here's the next chapter of my story. Enjoy! As always, upvotes are most welcome, as well as any comments or critiques!
If you're just coming to A Darkness Below, you can check out the previous chapters here:
They had voted down his second proposal, which had infuriated him.
McKenna understood why Brennan was reluctant to dedicate anyone to the war effort, prattling diplomat that the fat man was. He suspected Brennan would sooner sell himself into bondage than fight for his own freedom if it came down to it. What he couldn’t fathom is why Sullivan refused to give him due consideration. What difference would it make if the Order survived the war if they were destroyed in the ensuing purge. Hitler had been clever enough not to outlaw the Church outright, but that man cared about one thing only: power. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it would only be a matter of time before Catholicism was supplanted by paganism and heresy. The Third Reich would rewrite history, like they were already trying to do with the help of the Thule Society and the SS.McKenna slid a hand through his short hair and scratched at the back of his head, letting out a frustrated sigh. Old men, he thought. Old men, clinging to old ways. One of them a politician who wouldn’t fight even if he died, and another one so terrified of war that he’d avoid it at all costs. So much for the heroism and valor of the Great War. It seemed to him that all the Great War had accomplished was neutering the hearts and minds of otherwise great men. Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass, pouring two fingers into it before taking a sip.
No sooner had he put the glass down on his desk as a knock came at the door.
“What is it,” he answered, clearly not interested in having guests in his office.
“Councilor Sullivan, requesting permission to enter,” came the voice from the other side of the frosted glass, before Sullivan turned the doorknob and stepped through. He leaned on his cane, a smile on his face, looking in in much better spirits than the younger man across the room from him. McKenna stayed in his chair, but he motioned for Sullivan to take the one on the other side of the desk.
“I’m not interrupting, am I, McKenna?” Sullivan stepped deliberately across the room, tugging the chair back a step before making his way around it and sliding down into the comfortable leather cushions.
“Depends on what you mean by interrupting,” he replied, motioning to the bottle. “Care for a glass.”
“Please, if you don’t mind sharing.”
McKenna pulled out a second glass and poured the same for Sullivan before twisting the cap back on the bottle. Sullivan leaned forward and picked up his glass, raising it to McKenna.
“To the Order.”
“To maintaining peace by preparing for war,” McKenna replied, knocking back the rest of his glass and pouring himself another one. Sullivan took a sip, cradling the glass in his lap.
“I take it you’re still sore about me and Brennan voting down your proposal.”
“I’m sore that you two want to keep your heads in the sand. You, especially. You should know the cost of half-assing a fight, Sullivan.”
“No one half-assed the Great War. It was bloodier and more brutal than you can possibly imagine. I thank God every day that it ended. Now we have a second one burning on the horizon, but it’s not anything to do with how savagely anyone fought.”
“Says you.”
“Should I take your word for it? I could have sworn I didn’t see you in the trenches,” Sullivan opined, feigning a genuinely thoughtful expression. McKenna spat to the side and took a sip of his whiskey.
“Don’t play that card. You don’t have to have been behind a sandbag to take a step back and realize what happened. Anyone can look at the past and draw conclusions.”
“It doesn’t matter. Draw whatever conclusions you like. We’re still not going to war.”
McKenna scoffed and took another sip of his whiskey, and Sullivan did the same. The older man disliked the tension that had developed in the council room lately, especially between himself and McKenna. In many ways, they were similar; they were both soldiers. They both believed in their code and took the concept of honor very seriously. The only thing that McKenna suffered from was a lack of first-hand experience. Killing creatures was one thing. Killing other living human beings, and ordering the men under your command to do the same, was something else entirely.
“McKenna, I’m not here to fight. I wanted to ask you if you’d heard anything particular about the leeches mounting an offensive against Cahir.”
“You mean besides your lass?” McKenna finished off his glass and set it down on the desk, reaching up to brush the back of his hand against his upper lip. “No. Since she’d been put in the typing pool, she’s forwarded any corroborating field reports she thinks can prove her case, but there are no definitive details. Nothing concrete, and certainly not anything to be alarmed about. You know me, Sullivan. If there was something there, I’d be the first capitalizing on it and waving it in your face.”
“You’re right about that, and that’s why you’re on the council. It helps to have someone who is consistently proactive.”
“Fat lot of good it’s doing me now.”
“Don’t take it too hard, McKenna. We have plenty of work to do here. No need to go seeking out more fights when the fighting isn’t finished here at home,” Sullivan replied. He finished his glass and set it on the desk beside McKenna’s, easing himself out of the chair and leaning back onto his cane.
McKenna gave him a nod, leaning back in his chair and not saying anything else. Taking that as a cue to leave, Sullivan turned and headed through the door he’d walked in, closing it quietly behind him. He grabbed the bottle and glasses off of his desk and shoved them back into the drawer, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the door. The fight would come to them soon enough, and they’d be ill prepared. He’d be vindicated, but it would be bitter and fruitless then. If they weren’t willing to take the fight to the enemy - any enemy - why would they even bother? They might as well pack up now.
McKenna reached into his breast pocket to withdraw a cigarette case and his lighter. He retrieved one of the cigarettes before snapping the tin box shut and putting it back, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it before he tossed his lighter back in with the case. It didn’t matter, he thought. War would come, and he’d take charge where the others had failed to. He’d do it right. Whatever it took, he’d do it right.
