My Try at Historical Fiction

Prologue

            It was nearly midnight when Cathcart finally finished his report. The rooms were cold as the colonel left his office, he shivered as he slipped on his old duster. No one appreciates me, he thought as he walked through the hallways to the stairwell. I’m more qualified to command than any generals on staff. Like usual, his complaint was his lack of promotion. He’d been a colonel for the past three years, and was itching for advancement. Cathcart was ambitious; no one could deny that, however his ambition had had a way of getting him into problems with superiors. As the son of a commoner, he often conflicted with the rest of the officer class many of whom were noble born. One notable example was during his first active command in South Africa during the rebellion.

 On one of his first missions, during the Boer War in South Africa, he had been court marshaled for blatantly disagreeing with his commanding officer on the fact that the Boers would engage in a conventional battle with their British counterparts. After being proved right in the following campaigns he was given a commendation and his court marshalling was removed. However his disagreement’s to put it lightly with the army’s higher ups continued to get him into trouble regardless of his raw talent. His arrogance and contempt pointed mostly at officers above his rank unsurprisingly were not very popular with his superiors. Instead of only a fraction of the officer class being his enemy, nearly all were. The officers grew tired of Cathcart’s blatant disregard for their authority and he was sent back to Glasgow, operational Siberia for a British officer. That had been three years ago. I’ll get the last laugh you bastards, he thought, just see if I don’t. As he went down the stairwell, he passed the office of Glasgow’s naval commander, however unexpectedly, he saw light coming from the room and voices coming from the room. Cathcart crept closer to listen in.w

            “You told me they would be here Realer, now where are they?” The voice was a man’s voice sure enough. He talked as if to a small child slow and deliberate, however behind the voice there was a sense of anger.

            “I told you the admiral might have them, I never told you he had them for sure.” Now this voice this voice Cathcart thought was also slow, but instead of deliberate the second man’s voice was reasoning, as though to try to calm the other one down. “If he doesn’t have them than our colleague’s documents are probably in Edinburgh.”

            Our colleague’s documents? Thought Cathcart, Very secretive, Cathcart thought again, If I can get this to the Commander I might finally get the promotion I deserve. Happier than a conspiracy inside the military should have made a member of said military Cathcart began to sneak away.. As he crept toward the exit he accidentally tripped over the coat rack that sat in the entryway.

            “What was that?” said the angry man. Just a few more feet, thought Cathcart as he dragged himself to his feet. His heart began to race as fear and adrenaline began to affect him.

            “I don’t know,” said his companion, he than continued, “Come on let’s go find out. The boss wouldn’t be very happy if we let something slip not at this stage,” Cathcart than decided to throw stealth and guile out the window as he began to run full tilt toward the exit. As if he was back in Africa fighting the rebellion. That was probably his mistake, if he had continued to walk silently the vast complex of the building would have hidden him, as was it was easy for his pursuers to hear him running.

            “Stop!” yelled the two men. When Cathcart kept running, the angry man pulled out a pistol from inside his jacket. Cathcart saw it and began to reach for his .45. Before he could level the weapon his assailant pulled the trigger three times. Three thunderclaps later Cathcart fell limp like a rag doll.

            “N-n-no not like this!” he moaned almost as much because of his fury as because of the pain of the almost surely fatal gunshots. From the amount of blood on the floor he knew he was dying, it was just a matter of time. Than Cathcart’s vision started to go black. “That’s not right,” he muttered delirious, “There’s supposed..to..be..a.light”

  After that Cathcart never got the promotion he had wanted. He never got anything ever again.