Goodwill

Just as dawn was breaking, McGeady was pulled out of bed by a hand. "McGeady, it's your turn to keep watch!"

McGeady scrambled to his feet, hastily putting on his clothes as he said, "Roy, what's the rush? Nothing's going to happen. What's the point of being on duty?"

McGeady's outpost was relatively deep into guerrilla-controlled territory; it used to be a British Army outpost. However, recently, because Britain needed soldiers everywhere, and also because this outpost was too close to guerrilla-controlled areas, it was closed.

However, McGeady's statement that "nothing will happen anyway" wasn't entirely wrong. They had reached a gentleman's agreement with the guerrillas. Every month, they would submit a report on "combat losses" to the guerrillas—handing over weapons, ammunition, and the like (reporting these as combat losses to their superiors). Furthermore, they guaranteed to turn a blind eye to and not interfere with the guerrillas' actions; in return, the guerrillas guaranteed their personal safety and assured them that they wouldn't go hungry due to supply line blockades.

To be honest, the guerrillas are all honest and reliable people, and the security forces at the outposts really like them. Recently, the guerrillas even started a "trade-in" program with McGeady and his men. Besides the previously stipulated "combat losses," the guerrillas are willing to exchange their old guns for brand-new weapons from the security forces at a certain ratio. Some of these old guns can be replaced by their superiors on the grounds of "damage from use," while others can be used to claim credit from the Britain. So, the guerrillas are truly everyone's trusted confidants.

"Someone from above is coming to inspect today, so we need to make sure we look good," Roy replied.

"Damn it!" McGeady cursed.

The inspection by higher-ups was entirely their own doing. They'd handed over far too much spoils and reported far too many battles lately. Their achievements were so outstanding that the higher-ups wanted to send someone to inspect them. They might even be awarded medals or something.

However, nobody in the entire outpost wanted those guys from above to come here. The problems here are obvious if you look closely. Besides, what's the use of medals if they don't increase your pay?

"Didn't we already tell them about this? Why don't we just have them receive us? What a hassle!" McGeady put on his hat, grabbed his gun, and prepared to leave.

The phrase "have someone over there receive them" actually meant that they had informed the guerrillas that their superiors—and indeed, their real superiors— the Britain, were coming to inspect the area. Generally speaking, the guerrillas wouldn't pass up such an opportunity.

This is the usual practice, so recently, inspections by superiors, especially by "real superiors," have significantly decreased.

Of course, sometimes the guerrillas might fail to complete their reception duties for their superiors for various reasons. Therefore, when they receive a request from the guerrillas, they generally won't promise to fulfill the reception duties. So, everyone should be prepared to receive inspections from superiors.

McGeady left the room and walked down to the lookout tower.

"Jim, get down, I'll take your place!" McGeady shouted.

There was no response from upstairs. McGeady called out again, and then heard Jim's muffled voice from above. "Okay, I'll be right down."

A moment later, Jim came down from the wooden watchtower, a rifle with its rifling almost worn down. Seeing the bewildered look on his face, McGeady knew the guy must have been dozing off up there.

Wooden watchtowers were actually a terrible defensive structure. While they offered better visibility, they also made the sentries on them more vulnerable. In the past, when people fought seriously, no one wanted to stand guard on one of these structures, because it meant they could easily be shot dead by a bullet coming from who-knows-where. Of course, if they were killed, then in a sense, they had accomplished their warning mission.

So back then, genuine Britain soldiers certainly wouldn't put out sentries on these things. Those who did were usually from the security forces. They shared the same advantage as the wooden guard towers: they were cheap.

However, these days, it's the Security Army who prefer these guard towers. They're tall, with limited space at the top (which keeps costs down), just enough for one person to sit in a chair. Being high up, they're perfect for a quick nap, as no one below can see you. Before, people were afraid of being ambushed by guerrillas, but now most of the Security Army are on friendly terms with the guerrillas, and the guerrilla leaders are true to their word. As long as you send your monthly token of goodwill up there, they promise not to ambush you, and they mean it.

Of course, that token of appreciation must be delivered on time, without any compromise. Otherwise, don't blame the guerrilla leader for turning that token of appreciation into something you'd rather not do.

After Jim came down, McGeady climbed up and sat down on the chair, intending to take a nap. He glanced into the distance and saw a guerrilla squad pulling a small Marat he had never seen before, coming from the other side of the road.

"They're probably going to receive their superiors who are coming to inspect," McGeady thought. "Wow, they even brought cannons to entertain them. Our superiors are really getting a lot of face!"

McGeady watched the announcements, wondering how much he'd get tonight. "Hmm, those guerrilla guys are really honest and kind! They keep their word, a promise is a promise. Generally, as long as you tell them about hosting their superiors, the outpost that provided the accurate information will get a share of the profits. Last time the guerrillas hosted a British Army supply convoy, they gave each member two pounds sterling... Hmm, those guerrillas are really generous!"

McGeady watched, thinking to himself. He soon realized something was amiss, for he saw a second cannon, then a third...

"Good heavens, five cannons! Seriously, does our superior even deserve so many cannons? This reception is way too grand! Hmm, are they going to attack the stronghold over by the railway? Oh dear, these aren't guerrillas, these are the big shots of the Independence Army!"

So McGeady quickly shouted down, "The Independence Army is here! Hang up the flag!"

As agreed with the guerrillas, the guerrillas gave them a green, white, and blue tricolor flag. The agreement was that if they encountered a large force of the Independence Army, they should raise the flag, and then everyone could continue to live in harmony and peace.

The Security Army at the outpost quickly lowered the Britain flag and raised the Irish Independence Army flag.