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traveled the rest of the way in silence.

    The air of the Sixth Division Headquarters held a certain tension he had come to know well. The place practically thrummed with the low buzz of activity from the staff and officers, the sound of constant, focused actions with an underlying sense of urgency. Madigan could almost feel the vibrations in his bones.
    War was coming.
    “Major Laddermore will see you now.”
    Madigan stood up from the bench and followed the aide into the office. The major was seated on the other side of a desk that was covered in maps, reports, and lists. A huge map of Caspia and Sul hung on the opposite wall. She was far younger than he’d expected, though considering her last name and who her father was, rapid promotions were not too surprising. He honestly wasn’t expecting much in the way of leadership abilities or tactical acumen.
    He saluted. “Lieutenant Hugh Madigan, reporting for duty.” The aide closed the door, leaving him alone with the major.
    “At ease, Lieutenant.” Major Katherine Laddermore looked up from her tables of personnel and equipment and frowned at him. “What happened to your uniform?”
    The blue had long since faded to a sort of fuzzy grey. Holes had been patched. Rips had been stitched. “There’s not much in the way of resupply on the frontier, sir. My apologies.” Folding his hands behind his back, he waited for his next—inevitably degrading—assignment.
    “Well, I suppose there aren’t many opportunities for parades in the Thornwood, either.” Laddermore gestured at a chair. “Have a seat. Do you know why you’re here, Lieutenant?”
    Madigan sat down. “No, sir. I do not.”
    “The Protectorate of Menoth continues to harass our kingdom and violate our treaties. The Menites demand blind obedience to their faith; their Great Crusade is a war against all non-Menites. King Leto has ordered a punitive invasion into the city of Sul.”
    The resolution of the Cygnaran civil war two hundred years ago had carved the Protectorate of Menoth from Cygnar’s borders and broken the great city of Caspia in half. A reckoning between them was not a surprise.
    The major continued. “King Leto has given Lord Commander Stryker unprecedented control over this operation, and he has declared we order up every last man possible. He believes the Protectorate is not to be underestimated, so we are holding nothing back.”
    Madigan knew virtually nothing of Coleman Stryker beyond his reputation as a brilliant commander and a powerful warcaster, but he had heard enough about the Menites to know that was a good decision. Many officers would be quick to underestimate the Protectorate as merely backward-thinking religious fanatics, but those devoted to that faith fought with a fervor most modern men could never understand. “Wise.”
    “Our new Storm Division is the most advanced military force the kingdom has ever fielded. We’re armed with the best warjacks and the newest mechanika, and we’re going to breach the walls of a city that is supposed to be impregnable.”
    “How do we intend to do that?”
    “That is Major Brisbane’s department. My assignment is actually getting this fancy new Storm Division to function as a coherent military unit. Lord Commander Stryker has ordered all hands on deck for the invasion of Sul. Every available resource is to be utilized, and when I say every, I mean every single soldier, regardless of current status. We’ve built this division practically from scratch. I’ve spent the last few months cobbling together and staffing new units, and now I’m down to the last one. Do you understand my meaning, Lieutenant?”
    “Not really, sir.”
    “Stormblades and Stormguard infantry are the backbone of the new Storm Division. Welcome to the Storm Knights.”
    It made no sense. That was an honored position—and the Storm Knights were considered Leto’s Boys. Leto had created the order himself and expanded them during his time as Warmaster