Chapter 414 — The First Crossing II

Chapter 414: Chapter 414 — The First Crossing II

James told them.

He told them all of it, without dressing it up. British forces were inside the Republic. The army had asked for Challengers. Marcus was already in it. They would be under military command, with written conditions. O’Shea wanted names.

Finn did not wait.

"I’m going," he said. "If that’s what it takes. I’m going." He looked at James. "And not because Da’s there. I don’t need his permission and I’m not asking for it."

"Nobody said you did."

"I know. I’m saying it anyway."

Maeve had her pen out, though she had nothing to write on.

"What happens to this place?" she said. "If the four of us are standing in a field in Louth, who runs Guild Zero? We’ve got medical staff, operations, admin, security, ten recruits, and every one of them has a family. We can’t walk out the door and leave the lights on."

"The guild stays running," said James. "The staff run it. They ran it when we went up Thirty-Nine. Anyone who goes, goes as themselves. It’s not the guild volunteering. It’s us, one at a time."

"And the guild’s resources?"

"Whatever the government actually asks for, through the proper channels."

"I’ll make some available," said Maeve. "Medical. Vehicles, maybe. But I’m not promising the military equipment or staff or money I haven’t seen a request for. Not on the phone at midnight. If they want something, they write it down and I’ll look at it." She looked up. "That’s not me being difficult."

"I know."

"And I’m not saying no to the rest." Her eyes were steady. "I’ve held a dome over five people on forty floors. I know what I’m worth in a fight. I want to see what they’re asking before I tell them they can have it."

---

Cillian had not said anything for a while.

James looked at him and saw where his eyes were. He was looking at the chair at the end of the table, the one with nobody in it.

"Cill," said Finn. "You in?"

"I don’t know."

Finn’s face changed.

"It’s only been—" Cillian stopped. "It’s weeks. We buried him in weeks. And now I’m meant to just go and stand in front of something else, and I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to. I’m not rushing."

"It’s not a floor, Cill."

"I *know* it’s not a floor."

"It’s not like going up Forty-One. Forty-One stays where it is. This is here. It’s coming down the M1. If you sit in here, that doesn’t keep your mam safe—"

"Don’t." Cillian’s voice went hard. "Don’t do that. Don’t tell me that if I’m not sure, I don’t care about my mam. That’s not what this is." He sat forward. "It’s not about whether Ireland’s worth defending. Course it is. It’s whether I’m ready to stand in a field and do what some officer tells me, when I’ve spent my whole life deciding for myself what I walk into. That’s the question. That’s all I’m asking."

Finn opened his mouth.

"Okay," said James. "Stop."

Both of them looked at him.

"Nobody’s asking you to decide in the next thirty seconds, Cill," he said. "We haven’t even seen the conditions yet. When you decide, it has to be something you can stand behind. Not something you said because Finn shouted."

Finn sat back.

Cillian looked at the table.

"Fine," he said eventually. "But I’m not going to sit behind *I don’t know* for ever either. I’m not that."

"Nobody thinks you are."

---

James told them where he stood.

"I’m going," he said. "I’m not letting him take this country. I’m volunteering."

He said it quietly, because he did not want it to sound like more than it was.

He had made calls that could get people killed. He had made them on Floor 20, and on Thirty-Nine, and on Forty. Some of those calls had killed people. He knew what that weighed.

But on every one of those floors the call had been his. He had known why he was making it, and he had seen the room. He had known the plan, because he had made the plan.

Now someone in a uniform was going to tell him to go somewhere, and he would go. He would not always know why. He would not see the whole map. Somebody else would decide what it was all for.

Losing the authority did not worry him. He did not need to be in charge.

What worried him was carrying the weight of things he did not understand.

Finn nodded.

"Me too," he said. "I’m going."

"I’ll read the terms," said Maeve. "Then I’ll tell you."

"Same," said Cillian.

James picked up his phone and rang O’Shea’s office. It was not O’Shea who answered. It was somebody who took his name and wrote it down.

"James Ganner and Finn Hale," he said. "Willing to proceed. Maeve Callahan and Cillian Ward are considering, and they’ll want to see the conditions."

"Thank you, Mr Ganner. That’s noted."

The line went dead.

---

The hours went on.

James followed it in pieces, on the screen and on his phone, through the updates the Bureau forwarded to Guild Zero as they came.

British forces were operating inside the Republic in at least three places. Irish troops had engaged them in all three. One Irish unit had been ordered to pull back after taking casualties. Another was still holding a river crossing it had been told to hold. The news said *still holding* every half-hour, with no more detail.

There were no casualty figures. There were families on the news, outside a barracks in Dundalk, asking for the names of soldiers who had not rung home. People were being moved out of villages along the border on buses, by Gardaí, toward Drogheda and Navan.

The channels showed the King’s broadcast again beside footage of British armour on an Irish road, the dark room and the smile next to a burning car on the N1. Commentators on every network tried to explain what it meant. None of them could.

Some British voices on the British channels defended it. A retired general said the Crown’s objectives were *legitimate and limited*. A politician called it *restoring stability*.

But there were others. There were MPs on the floor of Westminster at two in the morning demanding to know who had authorised it. There was a former defence secretary on Sky saying in a shaking voice that British soldiers should never have been ordered into a war against Ireland. And there were crowds outside Downing Street in the rain, a thousand people, more, with placards. *NOT IN OUR NAME.*

James watched them for a while.

The international statements came through one after another. There were calls for restraint, deep concern, urgent consultations. There was a lot of language, and very little of it would ever arrive anywhere.

---

Finn’s phone buzzed a little after one.

He read it, then read it again.

"Emerald Spire," he said. "Da’s fine. He’s in it. Organising the Challenger side with the army." He scrolled. "Doesn’t say where. Doesn’t say what."

He told them, put the phone face down on the table and went back to the reports.

Maeve’s security lead came back to her at half one. Every Guild Zero employee was accounted for. Seven had asked to go home to their families, two of them in Louth. Maeve said yes to all seven, arranged cars for the two in Louth, and kept medical and security fully staffed.

James rang his mother.

She answered on the first ring. He could hear Nyra in the background asking something, and then asking it again.

"Where are you?" said his mother. "Are you still in Dublin? Have you gone?"

"I’m at the guild. I haven’t gone anywhere."

"Is it coming here? Is it going to come here?"

"I don’t know, Mam. Nobody knows how far it goes." He kept his voice level. "Do what the government says. Listen to the radio. Don’t go out unless you have to. If anything changes, anything, ring me."

There was a pause on the line.

She knew. She had always been able to tell, and he could hear her knowing.

"You’re going to go," she said. "With the army."

"Probably. Soon."

She did not tell him not to. She had sat in this house while men from that same country waited outside it for her. She had been taken out of it once by people working for them. She did not ask him to let the country go.

"Then you tell me," she said. "Before you go. Wherever it is. You don’t just disappear on me. You ring me and you tell me where you’re going."

"I promise."

"Say it again."

"I promise, Mam."

"Right," she said. "Right."

He heard Nyra say *is he going?* and his mother say *shush*. Then the line went.

---

When he looked at his phone again there was a notification from the government.

*DEFENCE FORCES: The Defence Forces regret to confirm that a number of Irish personnel have been killed and others wounded in the opening engagements. Figures are provisional. Further details will be released once next of kin have been informed.*

James read it twice.

He did not know any of them. They did not have names yet. There was nothing he could do with the notification except read it, and understand what it meant.

The country had started losing people.

He forwarded it to Finn without comment. Then he went back to the list on his laptop. Kit, contacts, what the guild would need while he was gone.

---

The news was still on in the strategy room in the early hours.

The presenters had stopped saying *developing situation*. They said *the conflict* now, and *the war*, without stopping over the word.

British forces had taken control of several contested areas near the border. Irish units had been ordered forward to reinforce threatened positions. The government had confirmed more casualties and said the situation was too fluid for a full public assessment.

The four of them were at the table with the latest Bureau update when a new message came in. It was formal, from the Tower Resource Bureau, issued in coordination with the Defence Forces.

James opened it.

*Qualified volunteer Challengers who have indicated their willingness to serve are directed to report for military processing, operational assessment and deployment preparation. Reporting details follow. Marcus Hale and other experienced senior Challengers are already engaged in the national response. Volunteers will operate under authorised military command. Assignments will be determined by the requirements of the Defence Forces and not by the preferences of individual guilds.*

He read every word of it, and then read it again.

Finn came round the table to read it over his shoulder.

"When?" said Maeve.

James looked at the reporting details.

"Now," he said. "We’d need to sort everything out now."

Cillian had not moved. He was looking at the message on James’s screen.

Then he said, "Can I still go?"

James looked at him.

"Yeah. You can."

"I want to go through the conditions," said Cillian. "With you. All of it. Properly. I want to know exactly what I’m signing." He swallowed. "But I’m not sitting in here while other people go out and fight for this. I’m not doing that."

James nodded.

He did not say anything about courage, or about Ronan, or about anything. Cillian did not need him to.

"Okay," he said.

---

Finn was already on his feet, gathering his things. His axes were in their case by the door, his jacket was over the back of a chair, and his phone was charging at the wall.

Maeve had opened a new document and was writing the handover. She was putting down who ran operations, who ran medical, and who made decisions about the recruits while they were gone. She typed faster than James had ever seen her type, without looking up.

James went to the locker in the corner and got his kit out.

He checked his phone. It was at sixty percent, so he plugged it in. He would need it. He would need it to ring his mother, and the guild, and whoever in a uniform was going to tell him where to go next.

On the way to the door he looked at the television once more.

The picture was a road somewhere in Louth, half destroyed, the surface torn up and black. British vehicles were moving along it in the distance. In the foreground, two Irish paramedics and a soldier were carrying a stretcher away from a burnt-out truck at a run, with somebody on it who was not moving much.

"—reinforcements," the presenter was saying. "The Defence Forces have confirmed they are requesting reinforcements to—"

James turned away from the screen.

He went to the door with the others.