John nods, giving direction to four of the guys to head for the cliffs and hills. He sends two more to put out a call through the town for members of the levy, and takes the last two with him to the armory with Jean's key in hand.

The three of them manage to distribute the weapons to every member of the levy they can find, and the tiny handful of volunteers John has currently taking direction under him. He assigns a runner to each of the medics, leaves a couple others to carry word between teams handling the fighting, and the rest stay with him to help where they can and carry any messages Jean needs relayed to the rest of the volunteers.

John isn't fully aware of how much time passes. He doesn't keep count of the handful of fights he gets into not because he sought them out, but because they came to him and to his superior.

It's strange, not to be on the front line--but he finds familiar satisfaction in adherence to the mission, in following orders well.

It's still the kind of war he was made to fight, and ultimately it's...it's still good to finish with fewer wounds and aches than usual.

It's even better to fight a war he's actually allowed to win.