01-04-2015, 03:07 PM
Marcus mentally saluted Michael. Admirably handled. Of course, better to have avoided the situation in the first place. But the man was quick on his feet. He could see why Ascendancy had chosen him to teach these men.
Strategy was an interesting concept. Maneuvering and responding to your opponent so as to achieve your goals. Whereas tactics were short term responses, strategy kept the overall end goal in mind. There was never a single path to victory. Just a goal, arrived at through tactics that responded to the ever changing situation. A person could have brilliant tactics but still lose the battle. Or win the battle but it be pointless by that point. A Pyrrhic victory.
He would watch and see how well Michael used both strategy and tactics in this. He wasn't sure what Ascendancy expected him to learn. Politics was a far more subtle and far-reaching form of military engagement. You had your weapons and allies and positioning. There were casualties- both literal and figurative. Battles and campaigns were waged as much with words and perception as overt posturing and positioning. All of these were things he'd breathed for the last seven years.
Still, he would see what more he could learn. There was a directness in this that was missing in most political machinations. An immediacy of reaction and response that moved far more quickly than what he had learned.
Case in point. He chuckled at Dr.- Weston was it?- and her response to Michael's immediate agreeing with her. And then, from her stance, she reacted to something more. He wondered what it was.
His eye flicked over the men. All around his age, maybe one or two a bit older. He saw fear in some eyes. Those he dismissed. He had not been afraid of his power. Well, aside from the fear that the police were coming for him after he'd made that woman kill herself. Beyond that, though, he'd felt nothing but exhilaration at his discovery. And as he mastered it, dominated it to the point that he needed but reach out to it at will and it obeyed, he only felt stronger. The fearful man would keep himself in check, was bound by rules and the opinions of others. Pyotr was such a man.
He looked for something else. Hunger. Pride. One dark Indian man caught his eye. The way he stood straighter at Michael's words. This was a man to watch. Smart and quiet enough to not draw attention to himself so foolishly as the injured man had. Yet standing as if the realization of their power meant something. Yes, this one would do.
Weston asked when they'd be safe. He wanted to tell her that would be never. This was a new age. The Age of the Ascendants. Instead, he continued to watch and learn.
Strategy was an interesting concept. Maneuvering and responding to your opponent so as to achieve your goals. Whereas tactics were short term responses, strategy kept the overall end goal in mind. There was never a single path to victory. Just a goal, arrived at through tactics that responded to the ever changing situation. A person could have brilliant tactics but still lose the battle. Or win the battle but it be pointless by that point. A Pyrrhic victory.
He would watch and see how well Michael used both strategy and tactics in this. He wasn't sure what Ascendancy expected him to learn. Politics was a far more subtle and far-reaching form of military engagement. You had your weapons and allies and positioning. There were casualties- both literal and figurative. Battles and campaigns were waged as much with words and perception as overt posturing and positioning. All of these were things he'd breathed for the last seven years.
Still, he would see what more he could learn. There was a directness in this that was missing in most political machinations. An immediacy of reaction and response that moved far more quickly than what he had learned.
Case in point. He chuckled at Dr.- Weston was it?- and her response to Michael's immediate agreeing with her. And then, from her stance, she reacted to something more. He wondered what it was.
His eye flicked over the men. All around his age, maybe one or two a bit older. He saw fear in some eyes. Those he dismissed. He had not been afraid of his power. Well, aside from the fear that the police were coming for him after he'd made that woman kill herself. Beyond that, though, he'd felt nothing but exhilaration at his discovery. And as he mastered it, dominated it to the point that he needed but reach out to it at will and it obeyed, he only felt stronger. The fearful man would keep himself in check, was bound by rules and the opinions of others. Pyotr was such a man.
He looked for something else. Hunger. Pride. One dark Indian man caught his eye. The way he stood straighter at Michael's words. This was a man to watch. Smart and quiet enough to not draw attention to himself so foolishly as the injured man had. Yet standing as if the realization of their power meant something. Yes, this one would do.
Weston asked when they'd be safe. He wanted to tell her that would be never. This was a new age. The Age of the Ascendants. Instead, he continued to watch and learn.