Chapter 6 - Sacrament

   I marvel at the sense of… ease? Yeah. The sense of ease Panic put me into. He followed it up the next day, by explaining some other things.

   "So. Everyone usually thinks of fighting, and fighting well? As this one thing. Then, something like… playing chess? Well, they think of that as something else. In fact. Lets say I suggested, to some big, strong guy? That I was a better fighter, because I was a better chess player. He'd laugh his ass off. Most people would."

   "Go on."

   "It works in reverse, too. Take this awesome chess club player. You know the ones. They're good playing with those damn timers? I actually hate playing those ones. Pain in my ass. Anyways. If I suggested to him… that I was a better chess player, because I was a really good fighter? Now, he would laugh his chess club ass off at me."

   "Probably."

   "Not everyone, but the vast majority? Would laugh at either situation. You see. To most people? Being an intellectual, and being a physically dangerous person. They're two separate things. They're not. You can get much better at fighting, and really all different kinds of… conflicts? By learning to play chess better. Now. Lets go over to your situation, okay?"

   "I'm game."

   "I bet you are. Basic strategy, you might employ. You come right at them, unexpectedly, and use overwhelming force."

   "Surprise, and power. Not bad things."

   "No. They're good. Great, even. When used properly. But. The smallest child, can win against the largest, strongest man? If the proper strategy is employed. For example. Its hard to catch little kids, for most adults. The child runs around, laughing. Then? The child suddenly stands still. Goads the adult into coming in to get them. Now. If the child is standing in just the right spot? It could be deadly. Say… a quicksand patch. Right in front of them, right in between them and the adult."

   "Ooh. Devious. Good one."

   "Thank you. You see, in this situation? The adult discounts the little child. Why, I can now just walk right over there and grab them up… and… oh shit, I'm about to have quicksand go over my head, I'm dead. The little child, just killed that big strong fighter. Doing practically nothing, except standing in just the right place. Chess? Teaches you these things."

   "Okay."

   "Another idea. Power? Is great. I mean, you can have the upper hand in chess. You already stung them, they're missing pieces, you have them on the run, you have them on the ropes. Its still possible for the player losing bad? To win. The object of the game? Is not to have more points than the other player. The object, is one thing and one thing only. To capture the king. Period. If the person winning, is not patient and skilled enough? You'd be surprised how easy it can be to screw up the win. Board position at the moment? Is everything. Back to that big strong guy, closing in on the child standing behind the quicksand hidden under leaves that fell on top of the quicksand. I mean, he's winning, and winning big. He's just about to win it all… when he gets killed."

   "The game starts out even, though."

   "It more or less does. Initially? White has a slight, and I mean a slight? Advantage. By going first. The better player, will let the newer player, be white and go first."

   "So… it is good to attack first."

   "Done right? Very. But, a better player? Giving the new player white, usually isn't enough of a handicap. The better player teaching? Will usually let them be white, and also… start the game by removing, say… a knight or even a bishop. A brand new player? A good player teaching, will even start the game without their queen. The most powerful piece on the board. The idea is, you're teaching the new player the importance of board position and tactics. That strength and power alone, aren't usually enough to win."

   "I could see that."

   "Now. If you're the better player. And, you attack with surprise. Quick and hard. Then ruthlessly but patiently, press your advantage as you take their pieces… its brutal. That? Is the trained fighter, ripping apart the untrained fighter. Intelligence, tactics, cunning, experience, patience. You want it all."

   "Keep going."

   "Bait. If I dangle a piece. Say… leave a knight out. If I'm better? I make it look like… oh, shit. You might get my knight… but? Its bait. You take that knight, you might not see several moves planned out later, where you now lose a bishop for getting my knight. That? Is my gambit. It takes balls, and you have to accurately assess your superior ability. And, not underestimate the opponent's lack of it. But, a successful gambit like that? I gain a point. I give up my two point knight, to gain a three point bishop. Since I'm the superior player? I can now press that small advantage, even worse. Once the gambit is successful? Its the same thing as the better player, starting the game by the newer player starting without one pawn. You never want to be handicapped, on top of facing a better player. Its about being patient, cunning… and ruthless."

   "How do you handle a better player."

   "Well. By not playing them. Best strategy there. Still. A really good defensive player? Typically doesn't like to attack. I get defensive, and refuse to attack. I will not budge. My only chance to try to keep up? Is to get them doing what they obviously don't like to do. Reach out, and attack, and move around. Take a powerful king, with a great army, in this well defended castle. I want to draw him out of that great defensive position. Easy, too. Just attack a little village somewhere a distance away. Now? You have a chance. A great tactician leader? Great at moving around, and flanking and all that? Screw playing his game. You prepare a great defense, and make him grind his teeth, attacking and losing against your big defensive stronghold. There's usually… something? You can do to even things up a little."

   "What do you think we should do here."

   "Well. First and foremost. We? Know there's going to be a game. He? Doesn't. We have all the time we want or need, to prepare. We analyze his strengths. We analyze his weaknesses. We want to see if we can figure out the right bait. For a successful gambit. Also? Up front, we carefully analyze the objectives. Is it just to kill him? Or make him suffer then die. Or… whatever. Do… you require that gloating, ha ha I got you and that's why… do you require that? Or, would you be satisfied with just doing away with him quietly. The more requirements you place on the objectives, the more objectives… the harder it is to pull it off successfully."

   "What would you suggest."

   "The engineer in me? Likes to take the easy way out. Then? I over-prepare and over-plan, and have backups in place. Is it overkill? You bet it is. But… while there's no such thing as a guarantee… there is such a thing as odds and statistics. I make it statistically as unlikely as possible, that I don't win. Now. Pride goes before a fall. Many a powerful, unstoppable opponent? Has been toppled by a very inferior enemy. Simply by enjoying the win, and prolonging the victory, too much. Think… standing over your helpless victim, laughing and gloating? And… they suddenly pick up a stick and ram it into your guts. You were asking for it. You check your pride at the door. Its about fighting smart. You take that easy, quick win and get it done."

   "So, we analyze everything."

   "Again and again. No rush. So… lets start out, by simply gabbing like two schoolgirls. What even are the requirements. Sit and think about it. Lets list different levels of requirements… see how each list might be workable. Patience. Take your time, and think before we start talking about it…"

   And so began my education in this field. I was starting to see what Little Robbie had slowly seen down at the equator. Little Robbie was the six and a half foot tall champion kick-boxer. The consummate leader and aggressive fighter. He respected what he had found. Intelligence. Cunning. Patience. It was a great advantage to put on his side. Rob was the epitome of superior firepower. But adding unique strategy to that? A priceless advantage.

   There was never any telling what he might do. If you attack? He might fight, he might run and hide. If you instead hid? He might come and attack, or… he might do something totally weird. Go sit in the middle of an open field in a chair, and force you to quit hiding. If you stayed hidden and refused to come out and face him? He now no longer had to even fight you.

   Little Robbie was the leader. This? Was his devious second in command, his adviser.

   I found myself becoming ever more entranced with this… class? No. It was not like classes in college. That, was a couple hours a week. No, this was different. It was more. Way more. This was more like… the apprentice sculptor, spending all day and every day, at the feet of the master sculptor. Watching them work, describing both what they did, and why. A class in college? Three hours a week. This was more than three hours a day. All my classes, were from 4 to 6 classes per semester. Three hours per week, per class. That was twelve to eighteen hours of class time per week. This? On one adventurous day in particular, I must have had twelve to eighteen hours of this instruction in one single day.

   I remembered my gone and still treasured Wizzy. How much he had missed his mentor. That, had been his master sculptor he had done this with. This, was mine. Also, my classes in college? Had not all been strictly psychology. I was forced to study other disciplines as well. This? I was immersed in this one, single subject. I was getting advanced degrees in conflict. A class on when to kill. A class on how. A class on the philosophy of it all. A class on the morality behind it.

   He spent hours talking about his heroes he had studied, and how those lessons applied. Napoleon Bonaparte was one of his chosen favorites, he called him two men. The early Napoleon, the capable "Little Corporal". Not the overblown ego of the later emperor and his high hubris that led to his downfall, his Waterloo.

   Napoleon was once graced with a highly superior enemy. Many more men to each of his own. The enemy? Had taken the superior position far ahead of time. Better prepared as well. They had tons of supplies, up on that hill. They had every advantage. What did the Little Corporal do? He sent a portion of his already small and under-supplied troops right up the hill, seemingly a last ditch attack.

   They were easily outgunned, out-manned, and beaten back. Smelling a wipe out? The cat-bird seated leader sent his superior force down to finish him off. Huge mistake. Napoleon was a genius. He had the bigger share of his force in reserve. They were quietly waiting on the back of the other side of the hill from the feint attack. When the bigger, better army marched down to finish them off? His main force simply marched, completely unopposed, right into the enemy's camp.

   In a fell swoop, they won by default. Napoleon now had the hill, the highly superior position. His lesser number of men? Now had the much larger force's supplies. It would keep his men many times longer. More weapons, more powder, more everything imaginable to have. The enemy? Having been duped, knew better than to attack uphill. They couldn't wait him out, they lost all their supplies. Napoleon laughed, and refused to budge off of that hill. They taunted him by message. Was he scared to face the enemy? He sent them back a message. Not afraid of anything except stupidity, I am simply too intelligent to repeat your blunder I created for you.

   That was how you fought. Seemingly beaten on the chessboard, if you could figure out a position? You could still win big all at once. He applied that lesson? To a real life example. The enemy is in a house, a big one. Well locked and fortified. Lots of warm food, and everything else. If you can lure them outside, say to investigate lights on and noises in the garage? Perhaps with their coat off, and its winter. Cell phone in that coat left indoors for a "quick look". Now? You can walk in, lock the doors. You now have the hill. They? Are freezing with no food and water outside in winter. You don't even have to fight, to kill your enemy. You just wait and its done for you.

   The reverse lesson was there too. With every advantage? You can still snatch defeat from the jaws of victory if you make a bad blunder. Never get too swelled a head and gloat, or you'll get Waterloo-ed.

   These things applied to all sorts of "conflicts". Business, sports, all kinds of life's competitions.

   I ended up asking for and receiving, a Napoleon book. He bought me two. He even gift-wrapped the books after he got them in. One, was Napoleon's condensed and distilled history. Where he came from. How he rose up. How he did what he did. And? His inevitable downfall. The other book? Specifically showed his greatest assets. By example, what the chess master was doing and why it worked. His defeats as well. No wonder, why so many people hero worshiped the guy. He was really something.

   He was born to… not much, really. One observer of the day, reflecting? Explained it as what he called "peasant nobility". Born to a name, a family, a title. But, a branch that had no money, no big land, no connections and power any longer. They inherited a house and a small bit of land, but without the rest of the trappings of real nobility? Little more than peasants, to any real nobility.

   His mother had her name and the family history, though. She was pretty. She ended up essentially the mistress of some noble, that didn't take her and marry her. She became essentially? The single mother of her day. Napoleon was all but a bastard. Yet, the bastard son of both his own formerly great bloodline, and the father had been a man of some note. She had him educated as best she could. The boy? Was clearly some sort of genius. That much was obvious, and to everyone. They all remarked on that count. What was the pity, was that without gold and advantages? All that genius was wasted.

   His mother saw him spend time with a relative. One that had some of the gold and connections and land. In those days? The blood was important. People knew that many powerful families had been well bred. Smart people, bred with smart people and kept it going. That older relative? Took a real shine to the little genius boy. He took a great interest in raising him. Step one? He slowly got him used to dressing well for once. He made people address him properly. He was taught to act like he was in charge, around servants and common people. It was the little boy's first taste of this. He was taught to be polite and gracious, although still in charge. He reignited the pride that he knew flowed through those young veins.

   Then? He saw the boy educated. Properly. With a little financial backing? The little genius became the darling of the top intellectuals teaching him. The little boy, grew into a little man. He had respect from his betters? Because they knew he was smart. He was not a large man. He had no great height, and indeed though no midget he was even short for his day and time. He had no great wealth. Some patronage and favors from an older relative that doted.

   Having been raised a bastard and all but a peasant? And then shown the sharp contrast of how it could be otherwise? The little genius lusted after the idea, that he could use his greatest gift. His genetic brilliance, the only thing he inherited. He wanted to be the one that made it big, and put his bloodline back on the map. He wanted to make his mark in the world.

   In his day and time, lots of men enlisted in the military. Peasants with no other prospects, sons might enter into enlisted military service. It was a job, it was a life. Then as now… the uniforms, the life, the military pecking order. You had a more level playing field to rise up from, if you had ability.

   Officers, though. The prejudice of the day was that only nobles were sent to military academy and trained to become officers. Reading and writing and experience managing enterprises? Were things unknown among the poor. Only the nobility had these things. Officers needed to be able to read and write, and show some ability to lead. This, was young Napoleon Bonaparte's one great advantage, for everything else he lacked. He had the best education possible for any man to receive in his day, rich or poor, common or noble. More over, he was known to be brilliant at education to boot.

   Using what he had to work with. Brilliant crowned by a top education, and the favor of an important distant relative that doted on him? It was a cinch he should go to military academy, and become an officer. The officers were like the enlisted men. The playing field was now more level. Now, all he had to do to rise up? Was simply show he was smarter and more capable. At leading. That? Was perfect for him.

   The other noble young men in the military academy picked on him. He was smaller, and didn't come from the money and connections they themselves did. He took it and largely ignored it. Letters from the day? He carries himself as if he really is something. In addition to being smaller and weaker physically? He had a slightly withered hand. He developed the habit of inserting it into his suit coat.

   Military officers were not expected to fight hand to hand. They were supposed to figure out the best thing to do. Issue orders. An officer is given orders to carry out. His job? Figure out the best way to implement them. That was what all the classes at the military academy were geared towards. The instructors? Would present some situation to the young officers. And, one by one? You proclaimed what you would do in that situation.

   He excelled at this, and the other boys were jealous of him. His habit? Let every other young officer give their ideas. Then? Hand in suit coat. With his characteristic regal bearing he comported himself with… he would confidently issue contrary orders from all the other boys copying each other's ideas. He was after all, a genius. Better educated, and brilliant on top of it.

   He was the darling of the instructors at the academy. He was earmarked for leadership. When he graduated early, at the top of his class? The head instructor said of him… he has a slight though thoroughly tolerable haughtiness. A slight sense of above it all. Yet, a polished veneer of politeness and reserved manner. A born leader. He's brilliant.

   Young Napoleon was in his glory now. He outstripped all the other boys at the officers military academy. He rose through rank after rank quicker. They all became his junior officers now when he ran across them in military life. Instead of picking on them? Letters from those same young men running across him being in charge, well… he treated them as an equal, and was polite and gracious to them. He had their respect.

   The men under him? He had their respect as well. The enlisted men? Loved being under his command. Napoleon, remember… had been raised the bastard son of peasant nobility. He knew well what it was like to live life from the very bottom, looking up getting trampled on. Also? How wonderful it felt, to have someone higher up treat you well. What his older relative had done for him? He did for the enlisted rabble under him. He often ate and drank among them.

   He was odd for his day. He not only polled his junior officers for their ideas and observations. He would question ordinary common enlisted soldiers. What did they think. How did they see this. When one of them had a great idea? He gave them credit for it, publicly. Told his junior officers, to imitate his example. He wanted the best ideas, not just those of the "idle rich".

   Everyone loved him. Those above him? Knew they had a brilliant leader, highly capable, serving them and figuring out novel ways to carry out their orders. Those under him? From junior officers to the last enlisted… loved him.

   Young napoleon finally had what he had sought all his life. A leveled playing field, and a path to rise to the top. He wrote to his mother… I have done it. Your efforts? Have not been in vain. I will see to setting the family name right.

   By the time the French Revolution came, he naturally shined. With not enough military to go around to try to contain the swelling revolution? His area of the city, had him placed in charge of a small group of men. He had nothing to work with, and huge unruly crowds barricaded in the streets. He was said to have been unafraid and confident.

   "Relax. I'll give them a whiff of grapeshot, and they will disperse."

   He calmly led his scared small band of men, to set up across from a huge and very unruly crowd. A few cannon shots, blowing holes in the barricades of furniture and refuse. The revolution was later successful, but his little section of the city? Was under control. What's more, the locals knew him and his ways. He treated the common rabble with great restraint and respect. Even the revolutionaries, the enemy? Respected him. As a poor noble that rose up, he was an example of their revolutionary ideals. That men of ability, should not be consigned to lives of servitude. He was one of the few leaders that survived the revolution once it was successful.

   They cut the heads off of most nobles and leaders. The guillotine made everyone equal that way.

   Napoleon was a bit of an outsider. Raised outside the country and city of Paris, France. Outsiders? Look at things differently. They see things for what they really are, not what they're held out to be.

   Napoleon looked around him at the chessboard. A country? Overthrown by revolution. The revolutionaries? Were little better than what they had replaced, and even worse. They were lopping off heads in public all day, every day. The "national razor" of France, the guillotine? Routinely went over a thousand heads a day. Every day. The common people? Were now terrified of their new masters. The former leaders? The nobility, the military. What little was left, was in tatters and not much at that.

   His country was in a shambles, and no one could do anything. The revolution? Hadn't brought what they had wished for. Things were now worse than ever.

   He analyzed the board. He thought and planned. Then? With little at his disposal… he acted. Brilliantly, and decisively. The revolutionaries, knew nothing of military wisdom. They were incompetent that way.

   His first "army"? Was anything but. He gathered what little was left of his precious military, and assembled it. They all knew him, they all loved and respected him. He hand picked out twelve good men. Armed with nothing but pikes, basically big spears with little ax heads under the spear tips? He marched them confidently, directly into the hall the revolutionary leaders were arguing and fighting in. He dismissed them, and his dozen armed men sealed the nearby entrances and exits.

   He had the message runners brought before him. He calmly explained, that there would be no more executions. No more fighting. No more commotion. His country he loved? Was the laughing stock of the entire of Europe, he wouldn't have it. He calmly sat, and wrote out orders. He had those orders sent, to the far flung offices. Those little leaders? Simply opened their orders, and read them. They were clear. They were precise. They made perfect sense.

   They followed them.

   Finally? Someone who had half a brain and some morals was in charge. He didn't imprison, try, and execute the common people. He set them all free, and explained. New start. Commit crimes? You will pay. Live your life as you see fit? You have nothing to fear. No more secret police, no more revolutionary kangaroo courts. We're going to have some law and order again.

   The people? Responded. The earlier government was no prize, they had hated it. That didn't work. The revolution? Had ended up worse. Crime was rampant. No one was in charge. What government existed? Seemed to exist to imprison, torture and execute everyone.

   He immediately brought order and stability. From the way he was raised, a peasant and little more? He enforced treating the common people with polite respect. National pride, was back. He set things right. Just one problem now. Outside the country? Other countries were looking to invade and carve France up. The wolves were howling at all the doors, and were going to devour them. What could be done.

   Well… they had nothing else now, except Napoleon Bonaparte. The Little Corporal. And he was the little engine that could. He did what he did best. He managed things brilliantly. He scrapped the laws, and wrote his own. Short, concise, clear language. Crimes were spelled out, and the penalties for them. Easy and direct rules for trials. Fair, too. Taxes? Low and even. From rich and poor, alike. Unlike any noble leader of the past, unlike any revolutionary leader… he walked around unafraid around the common people. Asked them, off the street. He would stop his carriage, invite some poor person in. Sit. Have a glass of wine. Tell me things, from your point of view.

   Crime went instantly under control. National pride was at an all time high. The people swelled the ranks of his new military. The low flat taxes steadily poured in. A short wait, and he set about setting things right outside the country, as surely as he had set them right inside it. His nation's enemies would now get their first taste of something new, they had no experience in dealing with.

   A truly brilliant military leader, that was also in charge of the entire country. A united people and military that not only liked and loved him, but respected him and his abilities to lead as well. The entire country lionized him, and practically worshiped him. Everyone, looked to him to see what he would do next.

   He did not disappoint.

   The custom of the day? Nobility were officers. Enlisted? Were the rabble. For the first time in Europe, he changed that. He put men in charge, that were smart and had abilities. The enemies? Did not have that. They, had largely incompetent leaders. Officers chosen by money and favors. He had smart common men, as officers. He had formerly rich people? As enlisted, because they had no ability.

   And he was a brilliant tactician. He played chess, and he did it well. He trounced foreign military power, after foreign military power. He grew stronger with each military victory. As he had more land, he repeated what he had done for France. He liberated the common people, he toppled the nobility. His military swelled. His taxes coming in? Multiplied.

   Early on at this? Was his famous "Napoleon's Hill" demonstration. He avoided larger and better equipped armies. He marched men around with precise orders. He forced large armies to split up, and fan out to find his forces. And he was waiting for it. He joined his men up to take them out, now split into smaller units. He could manage any situation. With brilliance and poise. All France's many enemies? Never knew what hit them.

   They had to join up to try again, and he defeated them again collectively and decisively. He now by this time? Had the giant army. The supplies and backing. And, this superior force and supply set up? Had their best weapon. The brilliant "Little Corporal" that no one could outmaneuver or outwit.

   He became the master of all Europe. What no man had ever been able to do before, in history. When the people of France were asked, by ballot. Would you like to see Napoleon in charge? Yes or no. They voted yes. When later asked, again by yes no ballot… would you terribly mind if Napoleon were put in charge permanently? They voted yes.

   Then, the big moment came when he was master of everything around Europe. The enemies? Had all been beaten time and again. Ganging up on him, they had lost at that too. The countries he took over? He installed his style of leadership. The common people? Loved their first taste of fair rule and freedom. They now all had to eat crow. He was to be crowned… emperor of Europe.

   When the time came, at the ceremony? He famously didn't get crowned. He crowned himself. He rose suddenly, disobeying the protocol. He grasped the crown with his own hands ahead of the appointed moment. He placed it on his own head, not from the hands of the noble church leader.

   He was not crowned emperor of Europe, he crowned himself. It was a huge gesture.

   He was at the height of his fame and power.

   He wrote his mother, as he always did through his life. It was a short letter, after crowning himself emperor of Europe, and with his own hands.

   Mother. I have done it.

   His relatives? Were installed as puppet kings of all the countries. Before he even invaded many of the later countries? The people wanted him to conquer and liberate them. They wanted, what the French people had. Poland was a great example. The Polish queen was one of the most beautiful women in Europe. Napoleon was set to invade Poland for resisting, and for having supported other enemies foolishly that he soundly defeated. Ruin was imminent. Poland, had backed the wrong horse.

   The Polish queen, used her own brand of diplomacy. She was well educated, and knew the people were threatening to rise up and overthrow her ruling class. Or Napoleon was about to come in and do it. More than likely? Both.

   She invited him in, for negotiations. She impressed him, with her education and intelligence. She also seduced him, romantically. She discussed at length with him, his laws. His taxes. His plans. She agreed it was brilliant, and you did need the support of the people. Poland? Was saved. No invasion. They joined France willingly. All Napoleon's changes? Were promptly introduced, and the people loved it.

   His mistresses, were the most beautiful and highest nobility of all of Europe.

   Only two things, could bring about his downfall. One, was Napoleon himself. He had to screw up royally, to fuck this level of success up. Also, there was a large enemy unheard from yet. The Russian empire. Russia, had as many men as all of Europe had. Russia, was as big or bigger, than all of Europe put together. Russia, was the elephant in the room. And even Russia? Stayed out of it all. The elephant didn't want to run afoul of this brilliant leader.

   Russia stayed out of it, but was secretly in communications with the deposed nobility and military leaders of all the countries under his control. Napoleon knew this, of course. He finally made his big mistake. He attacked Russia. He invaded with his huge resources. Russia didn't fight like Europe did. They fell back, again and again. They burned their own crops and towns as they fled back. The Russian winter, took its toll killing the European men not used to 40 below temperatures. And spring? Long season of mud you can't advance in, and the men get sick and die.

   Weakened over time thus? European forces came out of hiding, and started attacking from the European side. He had to fight a huge war with all his former enemies attacking from one side, and Russia drawing him in and weakening him while biding their time, waiting. The supply lines were too long. They were attacked and cut off. When weakened enough, Russia finally began to slowly fight back and come at him. Caught on both sides, with practically the whole world jealous and closing in? He was ground down and defeated. It took the whole world basically, to rise against him to do it. They had to fight smart as well as hard to accomplish it finally. And it took time and was costly.

   His story still, didn't end. After all? He was Napoleon.

   He was exiled, to a little island called Elba. Given a fine, though little, life. Loyalists chose to go with him. To live out his days, writing his memoirs. An example to the people of the world. You will not rise up, you will know your place.

   A boat sailed constantly around Elba. Guarding him to keep him there. In typical fashion, he watched the boat. It took so much time to go around the island, each pass. The iron grip of the nobility class, had fallen back across Europe. They imprisoned and executed the common people, to punish them for daring to think common people were the equals of the nobility.

   A huge mistake.

   The people? Wanted their Emperor back.

   He simply waited for the boat to disappear on its rounds, and just quite easily sailed back to Europe. He made them all look like idiots, once again. Men loyal were waiting, and all banded together to give him some military might once again. They looked up to him.

   Go on, do it. Do your magic.

   It was too little, and too late. They were defeated after some victories, and ground down and obliterated again.

   He lived out his life, in exile but much better guarded this time. He wrote his famous memoirs.

   Wow. What a goddamn story. No wonder people still looked up to this man for inspiration. It was the true story, that you really could rise up from nothing, using nothing more than a brilliant mind, if you actually had one. The American fable, that any poor boy can rise up to become president one day? Fuck that, you could rise up to crown yourself Emperor of Europe.

   And, once there? Just don't go too far, don't get too full of yourself, and take too much on. Don't fall victim to hubris. Keep your humble ways, and your humility. Or it will be your pride that goes before your big fall.

   But if you really are smart enough, and work hard enough at it? It can be done.

   You can do it.

   One man really can analyze things, and when the time is right? A dozen men with spears, can march in and take over a whole country.

   Wow.

   And his lessons were clear. Napoleon? Was two men. You wanted to be young Napoleon. A brilliant underdog. You wanted to prepare, and be the Little Corporal. Not the later hubris filled Emperor Napoleon.

   But? Again, just… wow.

   The story of Napoleon? Never really did end, even after his defeats, even after his death. He lived forever that way. He had left his mark on the whole world. His own permanent mark.

   If you practice law in America, lawyers can get approved to switch states. Not Louisiana though. They started out as a French colony. They had Napoleonic Code as their law books. Napoleonic code? You had to go to a special Louisiana law school to practice there. You could never be certified to practice in any other state.

   Louisiana law, to this day and for all time? Napoleonic Code. Unlike all other states law books? Louisiana, has few. They're very thin books, too. Clear easy language. Right to the point. The court rules, are all easy and straight forward. They make perfect sense, to anyone that can read and write. And everyone likes it like that.

   He changed the military, forever. He started the trend of short, neat hair and clean shaven faces. Of military discipline, not going into battle drunk. For "courage". Smart men needed to be in charge, not just rich sons that wanted to play soldier.

   Until the end of time, military leaders would dissect and study all his wins, and how to avoid his losses and what led to them.

   Socially? You have to treat the common people, with respect and dignity. Give them a way to rise up, if they show they're smarter than the average bear. Education, was how to court this. Yet another famous story, of his better ways.

   Napoleon had a problem. He needed to know and desperately? How tall something was in the distance. It was the one thing he didn't know for his big battle plans, and how to get that detail. He put the word out to all his officers, and directed it be told to every single enlisted man as well. Tell me the height of that thing in the distance.

   No one could, for days. Finally, one man came to his tent. One of the lowest enlisted men. He had a rare education for the day. Well read, and even mathematics. Geometry. He said, he could do it. Napoleon came and stood with him. He pointed, to the thing he needed to know the height of.

   The enlisted man? Used his flat rim of his cap. He looked at several things around him, that he already knew the exact height of. He carefully measured the distance, of his feet to the base of those things he knew the height of. He estimated the angle of his cap, looking up at the top of those known things.

   He was using simple geometry. Triangulation.

   "My corporal? Simply tell me the correct distance to what you need the height of. I will give it to you."

   Napoleon was no "corporal", he was much higher in station. But, the Little Corporal was his nickname. All the men, could address him informally, using his beloved nickname.

   Given the distance, which they already knew? He took an angle, and figured out the height. Napoleon asked. Can you guarantee me its accurate? All our lives and fortunes depend on your answer. The man pointed to his figuring in the dry dirt at his feet with a stick. It was not his opinion, it was mathematical law. It was inviolable. Napoleon famously responded.

   "And we shall see."

   See they did. They won, and proven right? He rewarded that man, with command of his own regiment. He made him an officer, on the spot. The enlisted men? Loved him for being like this. If you were proven stupid or incompetent? He demoted you. If you were brilliant, and showed ability? You were promoted.

   His army, ran like this? Took on practically the whole world, and won.

   This man was great. And the name of Napoleon Bonaparte, the Little Corporal? Would echo down through time, never forgotten. Even long after his fall, and even after his death. At town meetings in France when they were assembled, wondering what to do. All arguing, no one acting. You would hear from him, though long dead. You would hear a shout, clear over the din of the rabble.

   "l'empereur!"

   A man would raise one arm in a fist, straight up. "The emperor!", was what he shouted.

   And every man there would nod their heads, agreeing. They wished Napoleon was here right now. He'd know what to do. He'd know how to act. If he were here? He would set things right.

   I asked him to show me, the geometry the enlisted man so impressed Napoleon with. He did. It wasn't hard math to grasp, if you didn't fail out of high school math classes, like Trig and geometry. He followed it up, too. With another lesson.

   "And now, Merry? I've done this. Go around, and ask people to do it. Almost no one can. Its not secret or hidden esoteric knowledge. Kept from people. You get a D in tenth grade Geometry, or eleventh grade Trig? You can do it easily. And? I'll go you one better. Go to people, that you know once took Trig and Geometry, when they were young. Ask them. They? Mostly can't do it, either. They either don't realize they can, or they forgot everything they ever learned. Even if they have the education? They can't apply it to a new problem. We force people to become educated now. By law. And? Go out and ask… its almost as rare today? As it was in Napoleon's day. We're really almost right back where we started."

   Which was of course wrapping up another huge lesson for the day. One of his most common themes. Panic loves to quote Thucydides…

   "Any nation that separates its scholars from its warriors? Is destined to have its thinking done by cowards, and its fighting done by fools."

   Like any college class though, he gave me little reading assignments. Not orders, he simply suggested them. I eagerly devoured them. The Count of Monte Cristo. The classic underdog, impossible rags to riches story. Mentored by Father Faria the mad priest for years, in prison for a crime he didn't commit? He slowly became educated and dangerous. He came back one day, escaping from his wrongful life sentence to die in a dungeon. Using brilliance more than his sword arm, he extracted his revenge and ruined those that had him falsely accused and imprisoned. Then, at the end? He softened. He had his revenge. He enjoyed his dish served cold as ice. Then, he relented and forgave.

   Finally, it was all over. He could be at peace now.

   I wanted that peace at the end of the journey, for myself. What had been done to Edmond Dantes, who became the mysterious Count of Monte Cristo? That was me. My prison though, was my world, the whole world. My present, all around me.

   I had committed no crime. I had been on the side of doing the right thing. My sentence? To live, after my fiancee died in my arms, in front of me. It quickly became apparent to me, that it would be a life sentence. I would die, under that sentence. I escaped my prison though, and became who and what I had become. I let the universe fashion me into what it wanted, what it needed. I let it put me where it thought I should be. I had no Father Faria, however. My mentor? Was shot and taken from me. So I never forgot? The projectile that claimed his life, blew his insides into my mouth and eyes, and went through the meat of my shoulder. My body was now scarred for life, my soul was now scarred just as surely. For life.

   I didn't have my Father Faria. My mentor. My oracle. Mine, had been Wizzy. He was taken from me. I had to fend for my own, and educate myself on it all, as best I could. Now though? I had a new oracle. A new mentor. Wiz himself, had reincarnated back into what he had been and even more. I was still in that life sentence, that prison. But now I had my Faria. I was being tutored on the finer points of extracting revenge. How to do it properly.

   I might never know that peace that Edmond Dantes knew, when his revenge was fully extracted and the calm fell over him. Still. I could have everything else. Nine out of ten? Isn't bad for a final score, after all. If I couldn't have the whitewash? I could live with the other side scoring a single point, and enjoy the rout.

   Short overviews of men like Plato, Socrates, Thucydides. What the Renaissance man was. What enlightenment, truly meant. The French Revolution. The American Revolution. Leonardo DaVinci. Blaise Pascal. Just for me, as a woman? Joan of Arc. Ada Pascal, the brilliant relative of Blaise, one of the few mathematical female geniuses ever. She had a small computer language named after her little known memory.

   Thomas Jefferson. His many fields of accomplishment. General George Washington, in many ways sort of an American Napoleon Bonaparte. His lesson of… humility. They wanted George to become their king. He said no. Elect a leader. They elected… George. When they elected him a second time? He said that was it. He refused a third term. It set the tone, and became the custom. No president can serve more than two consecutive terms, or you end up with a king by another name.

   When FDR served two consecutive terms? He passed the torch to his understudy, for but one term. A term he ran behind the scenes. Then? He was elected again. After he was gone? They fixed that little loophole. Two terms, and never a third. Ever. We can't have a king, and human nature will fashion one by another name.

   His wisdom was compelling. Those that seek to be in charge? By and large, generally shouldn't. They crave leadership for the wrong reasons. And, those that don't seek it? You have to force the proper man into it. Like poor George Washington. He just wanted after the revolution? To go back to his big farm, and live out his days. He had done his work. Let me be in peace now.

   They forced him to lead them. Then? Twice more. He finally said no more, and retired for good.

   Benjamin Franklin? Not the genius commonly thought. He was just a shrewd operator. PR. Thomas Jefferson was the real scientist. Tesla, not Edison. Edison? Was a hack, and hired a herd of men, and worked them and took responsibility for their "inventions". Most of his so called inventions? Minor improvements on existing true genius.

   He didn't even "invent" the light bulb, as commonly believed. It existed. He simply tried every last thing as a filament, until he hit pay dirt. Carbon. Thomas Edison was more of a businessman, and a PR spinner. He was less of a scientist than believed. Tesla, was the real genius. And he? Refused fame and fortune and running companies, like Edison did. And he basically invented the modern world, single handed.

   Marconi didn't invent radio. He visited and copied what Tesla was working on, and imitated it and ran and claimed a patent. He didn't even understand the mathematics and physics behind the principles. Tesla did. He was after his death, awarded the radio patent. Tesla's AC, beat out Edison's DC… with the whole world and the results being judges. The vote? Unanimous.

   I already knew about Sun Tzu's little gem, The Art of War. Machiavelli's contribution, the Prince.

   He added others.

   One day, we were lounging in bed, before falling asleep. He gave me what he said was one of the greatest things. My own council. It would exist in my head. Now that I knew the comings and goings of the great people that had come before me? Now that I believed he himself was my precious lost oracle, Wizzy sent back to me again? It was time.

   I was to imagine. Over time, for hours. A gathering of these great thinkers and leaders I personally chose and singled out, to sit at my council. In my head. One at a time. I picked Napoleon, first. What would he say. What would he approve of. What would he disapprove of. What might he suggest otherwise, and why. As I began to get that, I was to add the second. Joan of Arc.

   It felt… simply crazy, but… he swore it worked. Over time, with dedication. I found myself imagining what they advised me to do, and not to do. And why.

   As I fell asleep another night? He explained quietly.

   "Honey? You always tell me. You lost your mentor."

   "Hmm. My oracle. But? Now I have you. Again."

   "If you keep up your council, like I taught you to do."

   "Yeah…"

   "Even if something would happen to me, one day. You'll still have your oracle. You could even have me sit in that council in your head. If you did me that honor. Not like I feel I deserve to sit with such esteemed men and women, but still. You have your own… oracle now. Your… oracle council. And? No one can ever take it away from you."

   Wow.

   I curled around him like usual. Ritual. I slept like a baby for 4 hours. When I awoke? It wasn't for very long. I looked back down at him sleeping, and ever so carefully got nestled back in for my second 4 hour shift. It was working. I was beginning to feel better. I know, I know, I can't really and truly feel? But, the hurt under it felt better. And, there I go again. The under-hurt felt better. Christ. You know what I mean now.

   As I laid there, falling asleep. I thought back on my life. My young idyllic childhood, spent on the family working farm. My less than perfect young adulthood, spent dealing with my lot in life. To work on a farm all of my days. Realizing that while I wasn't ugly? I'd never be truly beautiful. At least not the way women on TV and in magazines are. I was a little too tall, a little too strong and muscular. I couldn't even choose to opt out, and not work out. I took after daddy's side of the family. Tall, big thick bones, and muscular. And on the women? Particularly the big muscular legs. I couldn't even say no, if I even wanted to. So? Sports. They had always been there for me growing up. Sports was a fast friend. I went that route.

   Sports got me a scholarship to a big ten mid-west university. Saw me quickly become a starting player on the girls soccer team. Starting? Got me a really nice townhouse to live in.

   It got me noticed by what would become my fiancee. He loved everything about me, that I felt was less than optimum. I was all set, to live happily ever after. Then? The case came up. Wiz called in the former MP allies, and… off they went. I went too. They were a real family, and they adopted me into it. I was felt out and tested, and slowly accepted as one of their own. Entry level rank to be sure, but still. Wow. They were all warrior monks. They were full fledged agents of karma. Charged by the universe with setting things right. I passed muster. I became? Junior karma agent.

   I got to go on the final runs into that dirty little town, and knew all the dirty little secrets it held if quite openly. These warrior monks, fought dirty. Criminals don't play by the rules. So… it made sense that karma agents shouldn't either. We sure didn't. We got right down into that big mud puddle of a shitty little small town, and slung it right back. I was there, I helped. Junior karma agents might just carry the towels and the water? But, you're a member of the team.

   Then? Disaster.

   I must have passed that further test. I was able to recover from it or at least as much as I was capable of recovering? And I went on, to become an FBI agent. Undercover pool worker. I was now no longer a junior karma agent. I had been promoted, to agent. No longer a probationary member, I did my own karma work now.

   Then? The case morphed and turned into an even bigger one. And? It kept getting bigger and more important at every turn. Wiz must have been proud of me. Looking down from Valhalla. Seeing me do the right thing at every turn. Forsaking everything, and embracing his own code he had given to me. I did what he had done, what he would have done if he was there. You forsake you own life, you don't fear death. You go all in, and you don't ask the price. Whatever it ends up costing you? Well then. That's how much.

   I came to realize he was no longer just my guardian angel. In my memories and in my persistent PTSD movie clip that comforted me. He came back down and jumped in the mud and went right back to his karma agent work with a new found vengeance. I guess I got a promotion along that path. I went from karma agent, to karma special agent, first class. I got my next stripe.

   Now? This was it. I had proven myself, I suppose. I always wondered. Would my heart, mind, soul, motives… all be pure enough? It must have been. Because here I am. Steeped in the final karma degree classes and required lab work. Before I know it, I'll be there.

   Senior karma agent.

   And really, that's the scariest part. I know from the experience and knowledge. My precious Wizzy? He'd had a mentor. An oracle. Not just a good karma agent, but a great one. And when you're great, not just good? You recruit new karma agents, and mentor them. Then? The universe calls you home for it. His mentor? Killed. Drunk crossed the center line, and smeared him over 100 yards of the interstate loop he used to get back and forth to work every day. Wiz? Carried on his legacy. He was called home too. I guess for being my oracle. Shot in the back by a coward on blind bad luck.

   Will it happen to me too? If I even become great as a senior karma agent, will I recruit a new karma agent and mentor them. I will. I have to. Its how it works. And judging by how it all goes down, I might as well make my will out now. When you become someone's oracle and mentor them successfully? You get called home. Its okay though. You go to Valhalla. You might even get to come back and do more.

   Because that's how it works. You forsake your life, and you embrace the code. You hold it dear above all else, and you become what the universe wants and needs. You let it put you where it wants and needs you. And you give your life if need be. Then? When you die, its with a smile on your face. You know you did what was right.

   I can't even feel fear. Not anymore. That was ripped out of me years ago, along with all the good emotions I miss. I still feel where fear comes from though. What was fear, became concern and a sort of diligence.

   I'm strangely okay with the idea. Wiz's mentor became the oracle. He paid the ultimate price. Because no good deed goes unpunished. Its like being the person that carries that damn flag during a charge. You're a target. The flag bearer falls? You pick it up greedily and keep charging in, waving it. Asking for it. Then? When you fall, the next man will pick it up. Its just how it works. Wiz picked up that flag, and ran with it. He became an oracle. So he paid the price for it. Now?

   My turn at bat, I guess. And you know what?

   Fuck it. Swing for the seats.

   You can have this flag? Only when you pry it out of my cold dead hands.

   Finally starting to actually fall asleep now. I find myself doing the oracle council in my head. I guess Napoleon stepped out for a late night coffee. Joan of Arc is there. She's hearing me explain this all. I ask her if she approves. She smiles at me. Nods her head a little. Approvingly. I ask her if its going to cost me my life, now that I'm graduating to senior karma agent. She says? It might. And does that really matter anyways? No, I tell her it really doesn't. Hey Joan. Should I make my will letters out, just in case.

   I remember after Wiz died, his dad called me out of the blue. I'd never met the man, and he had his son's will letter. To me and someone else. Just in case "something" happened on those last forays into that dirty little town. And it had. He named me as his successor. To pursue karma and embrace it. I accepted.

   How about you, Joan. Did you write out your will letter, before that last battle? She nods. She did. Well then. I better start thinking about mine, who they go to, and what I tell them. I have time. This is just pregame festivities and preparation. I'll give it a lot of thought. Wiz sure did, when I read his.

   My fledgling imaginary karma council in my head? Its turning into a dream, and I'm falling into it. Joan seems quite happy with me. In that dream starting? I'm not cold and sterile, not like I am when I'm awake in real life. I can feel. Really feel. I guess I'm like a person that loses their legs one horrible day. You only walk and run now, in your dreams.

   My last memory before I went completely under?

   Pure, calm, happiness and peace.

   I accept the promotion and it makes me feel wonderful and warm all over. Joan smiles. Lifts her little goblet of wine to me. I hadn't realized I had one too. I lifted mine back, to return the gesture. And I sipped. Its sacred wine.

   Its a sacrament that I'm taking, after all.