Cross Conviction

"Are you in there, Scharf?!" a muffled voice hollered from behind the closed door.

Awoken by relentless, heavy knocking, Scharf hastily rolled out of bed and got to his feet, knocking a freshly consumed bottle of beer from his bed to the wooden floor as he went. Pain radiating through his head, the captain cracked the door enough to reveal who was on the other side. There, standing with hands behind his back, was Major Krieger. Groaning, Scharf opened the door to meet his superior.

"What is it, major?" he asked groggily.

Krieger shook his head and stepped by him, entering the room without invitation. "I half expected to find you dead in here," he explained as he glanced around the apartment, "Judging by the look of things, I expect I that might at a later date."

After pushing the clothes off the top of the dresser, the major examined the rifle that had been obscured beneath them.

"To what do I owe the intrusion, major?"

With a humorless chuckle, Krieger explained, "It's 13:00. You were supposed to report to the academy five hours ago."

"What?!" Scharf exclaimed, snapping out of his daze, "Get out, I'm on my way!"

Not wasting a moment, Scharf grabbed his disheveled, still-damp uniform from the night before and began to dress himself.

"Relax, Michael..." replied Krieger, "I sent them to study in the library. It's Tuesday, they had no classes scheduled."

Ignoring the major, Scharf pulled up his wrinkled trousers and reached for his belt on the side of the bed.

Krieger held out his palm, urging the captain to halt. "Stop, you look ridiculous. You'll disgrace us all walking into the academy like that," he said forcefully, "Go take a shower, you're an officer for God's sake."

"I can't risk losing my assignment," said Scharf, hurriedly fastening his belt as best he could with one hand.

"Now you care?" Krieger scoffed, "Don't worry, Vogel isn't cutting your booze money off over this. Though he might if you show up like that."

Scharf paused and let his arms fall to his sides in defeat. "Then why are you here?" he asked.

"Aside from making certain you were still breathing?" asked Krieger.

Unamused, Scharf didn't respond.

"The readiness examination is this Friday and I wanted to be sure you hadn't forgotten," the major continued.

Muttering under his breath, the captain ran his fingers through his dark, matted hair. "Shit..."

On the 18th of September, during the first year of each Iron Knight batch's two-year stint at the academy, fell the readiness examination. The event was designed to test the candidates' ability to function under the intense stress of a sudden, unplanned combat scenario. After being woken up by the emergency alarm at the crack of dawn, the teams would have to evacuate the building and move to the training fields behind the academy. During the examination, the instructors would engage the students in a surprise battle, having disarmed them the night before. The academy staff would occasionally be joined by volunteer senior knights, though this wasn't always the case.

There was to be no explanation, no preparation, and no warning. As surprise was the operative aspect of the test, the very existence of the readiness examination was itself a closely guarded secret. Though Scharf had been informed of the event's date and what was expected of him as a proctor, this was his first time functioning as an instructor, and he had quickly put the information out of his mind.

"What about the kid?" Scharf inquired.

"Arthur Sturm?" Krieger replied, lifting the rifle and looking down its scope, "You're his instructor. That's your decision to make."

Scharf removed his sodden tunic and sat at the foot of his bed. "Can the exam be delayed?" he asked.

"Out of the question," said the major, "We can't put a hold on the entire program because of one student, however much potential he might have."

Weighing the options, Scharf went into quiet contemplation. By the time of the test's commencement, it would be less than four days from Sturm having suffered a heart attack. To allow him to take part in the examination would be beyond reckless. Going from death's door to the heat of battle in under ninety-six hours would be ridiculous, even for the son of the renowned Hurricane. Still, Scharf was at an impasse.

If Sturm didn't take part in the exam, he'd lose valuable combat experience and risk being recycled into the next batch of knight candidates in the event that his performance was further hindered for any reason. During an era of international uncertainty, a two-year delay in the boy's training could be as catastrophic for the Reich as it was to Sturm's potential career.

Assuming the captain's contemplation from his silence, Krieger returned the firearm to the top of the dresser and made for the door. "You have until Thursday afternoon to decide. If he isn't capable, we'll relocate him to an outside hospital for the duration of the examination."

"I need to speak with him before I can confidently make a decision," said Scharf, his one eye following Krieger across the room.

"That's all well enough," replied Krieger, "Just be certain not to divulge the nature of the examination or its timing. If it doesn't come as a shock, then its purpose is entirely defeated."

Scharf gave the major a nod as the latter exited the room. Feeling the pressure of the choice he'd soon have to make, the captain let out an audible sigh and turned to the bathroom door. He'd shower first before returning to the academy. On his way to work, he dropped one of his uniforms off at the dry cleaner and bribed them with a few hundred marks to have it ready by the evening. With only one clean tunic and pair of trousers left after the previous night, he didn't want to risk being without proper clothes for the examination.

Since he had made the trip on foot, Scharf arrived at the academy around 14:30. He stepped through the great, intricate double doors of the entrance, removing his cap as he came indoors. Sparing no time, Scharf hurried to the infirmary where he found Sturm propped up in his hospital bunk with a tray of food. Upon seeing his captain, Sturm sat as tall as he could and bent his arm in a salute. Scharf immediately responded with a wave, signaling the boy to rest.

"Doesn't look so bad," said the captain.

Putting his arm back at his side, Sturm took a deep breath. "I feel a little winded, but I'll be alright."

Scharf nodded without making eye contact. Instead, he glanced off across the room. "We need to have a discussion."

"About what, captain?"

From his apartment to the academy, Scharf had racked his brain for a way to gauge Sturm's fitness without divulging the examination that would occur at the end of the week. Perhaps still slightly disoriented from his hangover, the captain had struggled to find any appropriate means of doing so.

Seeing no other option, Scharf let out a sigh and shifted his one blue eye back to his student. "Look," he started, "things are about to get quite a bit more difficult. If you can't do it, you can't do it. I have the final say as your instructor, and I'm leaving the decision to you."

"I-I don't understand," Sturm stuttered in confusion, "Are you asking if I want to drop out?"

Scharf shook his head. "No, I'm asking if you're going to be ready for whatever you need to do, whenever that might be."

"In that case," said Sturm, "I am."

"Even in your current condition? You could very well die," Scharf pressed on, his voice becoming more dire.

Glancing down at his tray, Sturm observed his own reflection in the shined skin of a bright red apple. His father had discouraged his entrance into the academy on account of his condition. Beyond that, Leopold had wished for his children to live a life free of the sort of deadly conflict that had defined his own youth. While Sturm often found himself compared to his father in a way that made him feel inadequate, that didn't take away from his Iron Knight aspirations. More than anything, Sturm was worried that he might perform in a way that reflected poorly on his father's legacy. He refused to be a mark of shame on his family.

"Positive, Captain Scharf," Sturm replied with certainly in his voice.

Scharf sat down in the chair next to Sturm's bed. "And your heart?"

"I've got two of them," said Sturm with an anxious smile, "I'll be alright."

"That you do..." Scharf replied quietly.

Just then, Magnolia burst into the room carrying a brown paper bag in her hand. She walked over to Sturm's bed and placed the bag next to his leg.

"Max ran off and got you supper at Richter's by the river," she explained with some annoyance, "but I can see you haven't even bothered with the lunch I so generously left for you earlier."

After an awkward chuckle, Sturm picked up the apple and gave it a bite. The crisp fruit snapped as he took a chunk off in his mouth and began to chew.

After swallowing, Sturm placed the apple back on the tray and covered a yawn. "Thanks, Magnolia. I really do appreciate it."

"You'd best..." the girl groaned, the slightest hint of sympathy slipping into her voice, "You lot truly are a handful, but I can't deny your venerability."

Surprised to receive a real compliment from his usually less-than-agreeable teammate, Sturm covered a laugh. "I'll just be happy once we can all get to work again. Speaking of which..." he continued, shifting his attention to Scharf, "Is there any word when our weapons will be replaced, Captain?"

"There's an order in for them," said Scharf, rising to his feet, "Don't worry about that for now. You won't need them in the immediate future."

"How could that be? Surely we can't be relegated to aberrance-free sparring for the next month!" Magnolia protested.

Stepping by her, Scharf replied coldly, "You'll figure it out."

Magnolia's face quickly flushed red but she managed to hold her tongue. The group was two weeks into the academy program and, aside from the skirmish with Max, had accomplished very little. In regards to training specifically, they had done virtually nothing save for the odd sparring match. Most of the Third Hunter Team's time was spent in class listening to endless lectures on exceptional terminology and Iron Knight history. The rest was spent in the library with no clear motive, as the captain seldom attended such study sessions- likely because smoking was prohibited there. How long would it be before their abilities were cultivated in any meaningful way?

"Oh..." Scharf spoke up once more, stopping in place for a moment, "Grab Sturm a book from the library on medieval sword fighting."

Though angered, the girl remained outwardly composed, save for the brightening glow of her cheeks. Whether ignorant or unsympathetic to her reaction, the captain paid her no mind as he exited the infirmary and started his way toward the library to check in on the rest of his students. He got about halfway to his destination before a voice called to him from behind.

"A moment, captain."

Scharf turned to see Krieger several paces behind, gesturing for him to follow. The captain closed his eye, inhaled deeply, and turned to follow the major back to the commandant's office.

"So," started Krieger, taking his place at Vogel's vacant desk, "There has been a development that, while unfortunate, might prove fortuitous given the current situation"

Scharf's brow furrowed. "And that would be?"

"There is some indication that Dominic Thiessen of the Recovery Team will soon drop out of the academy program," Krieger explained, "As you know, the attendance of non-exempt male exceptionals is mandatory. In this case, however, we are prepared to waive Mr. Thiessen's service on account of his aberrance being mostly impractical."

"Why are you directing this at me? He isn't my candidate," said the captain.

"He is not," continued Krieger, "but Arthur Sturm is. If a vacancy is opened on that team, then it would be possible to transfer the boy to Sophia's charge."

"The Recovery Team? Pauritsch is a witch. She isn't qualified to handle a swordsman's development," said Scharf, eye narrowing.

"Indeed, it is less than ideal," Krieger elaborated, "but what's most important is that he is under the guidance of someone willing to instruct him."

Abruptly, Scharf replied, "That will not be necessary."

With a minor look of surprise, Krieger leaned forward in his chair. "That's quite the change in demeanor from your rantings last night. I was under the impression that your misgivings toward his father were making your assignment difficult."

"That is not the case. I will keep the Third Hunter Team as it is," said Scharf.

Krieger nodded slowly. "Alright," he said, "If you're certain that it won't be an issue, then that's your decision, captain. Just know that, whatever your decision, it won't modify the terms of your parole. So long as you complete the two-year academy program, your sentence will be overturned."

After a pause, Scharf spoke up once more. "The agreement hasn't influenced my decision at all."

"Then what has?" asked the major, his eyes prying inquisitively.

Scharf did not speak, offering little more than a shrug in response.

"Right..." started Krieger, "Well, on any note, that will be all for now."

Before Scharf could touch the doorknob, the major again grabbed his attention.

"Scharf," said Krieger, "I almost forgot to ask. Will he be participating in the examination on Friday?"

"He will," answered the captain.

Krieger raised an eyebrow. "You're certain he'll be up to the task?"

"I'm not worried, major," Scharf replied nonchalantly, "after all... he has two hearts."

With that, Scharf swung the door open and found himself face-to-face with Magnolia. Wide-eyed, the girl was frozen in shock. It was immediately clear to the captain that she had been eavesdropping. Offering no words and with aggravation plastered across his face, Scharf walked by the girl, his sleeve brushing past her rigid form. Being unenthused with her behavior, Scharf opted to leave her in the hall, speechless and bound by her nerves. After collecting herself, Magnolia slinked back toward the library as a hectic mess of thoughts swirled in her head.

Parole? Sentence? She thought to herself. Our captain is a convict? This truly is scandalous.