Standing in front of his group instead of among them, Ber was decidedly uncomfortable. The gathering was informal, but by virtue of having to explain something, those providing the explanations stood out from the rest. Attention rarely brought good tidings, so he did his best to avoid it; however, with the sea of faces staring back at him, he had nowhere to hide. At least Tarre and Moss were here with him, and given that the two witches were the true masterminds behind their victory, he comforted himself with the fact that they would likely face more scrutiny than him.

There were more people here than he had expected. He thought he recognized some of the soldiers from the opposing side, but what he found even more surprising was Zarha Sliva ’s presence. She may have stayed in line during the fight, but outside of that single instance, she had done little to suggest that she viewed her teammates as anything other than deadweights. Throughout that entire afternoon, she had seemed determined to leave everyone else behind in order to prove herself better than some invisible competitor. For the most part, it confused more than bothered him. Ber was more than willing to be shoved aside in favor of that unspoken competition if it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about fighting with someone he ultimately couldn’t trust. But it did make him wonder why she had decided to make an appearance here, to learn group strategies that wouldn’t benefit the single fighter she clearly wanted to be; in his experience, people rarely had so quick and drastic a change of heart.

Turning away from the crowd, his gaze found Duncan’s, and he returned his friend’s encouraging smile with a faint nod of his own before looking over at the two witches standing beside him. He hid sweaty hands behind his back as Tarre stepped forward and began speaking.

“Well, you all know why we’re here,” She said, looking altogether far more comfortable and confident than Ber felt. “And we all have other things we’d rather be doing, so we’ll try to make this quick.

“The other day, Lieutenant @warren split us into equal sized teams and had us face off against each other on an even playing field. Neither side had an advantage; in a straight battle, both teams stood the same chance of winning. So the first question to answer is: how do we tip the scales in our favor?” The question was rhetorical, but she paused for a moment to let it sink in. “We have to find something to give us that extra push to win the fight, and if we can’t find it, then we make it. What that something is varies depending on the circumstances, but in this case, I saw that our side had a number of strong fighters.” Tarre’s gaze flicked around the crowd, resting for a moment on Sliva before moving on. “They would likely be able to hold their own against an enemy’s frontline, even if it technically outnumbered them. That allowed us to capitalize on the opportunity to move some of our soldiers back to form a third line, held in reserve, that could be used at the last minute to give us that final push to win.”

Moss spoke up now. She had run with the second line in the skirmish. “We all know how fighting in lines works,” She started. “The frontline engages with the enemy first. The second line can support them, offensively or defensively as required. The third line can, in turn, support the first two. We, the second line, played both offense and defense the other day.” Moss gave a brief summary of how they had dispatched the group of five enemy combatants who had broken through the frontline and almost reached the baseline. While most of the fighters in the second line had run forward to reform the frontline, others on the second and third lines had encircled and neutralized the threat. “Having the third line gave us that flexibility. If we’d had to, the front line could have fallen back to us, and if we were still overwhelmed, both of our lines could have retreated to the fresh third line. And there, we would hopefully have been able to mount a proper defense.”

They both turned to Ber, who was not ready to suddenly have the focus shifted to him. “Uh.” Quickly, he tried to collect his thoughts. It was so much easier to make sense of what was happening on the battlefield when it was happening, rather than trying to pick apart and analyze the details of the fray afterward. “Woodwick’s new rules changed things a little bit, or, um, rather, made some parts more important than they would have been otherwise. We could lose people, and that made it even more important that no one person moved forward significantly ahead of the rest.” He had given Sliva that warning when they’d first started.

“They could be surrounded and taken out, and everyone left behind would have been more vulnerable to a strong counteroffensive,” Tarre explained briefly, and Ber gave her a nod. “Spreading out along each line like we did gave each soldier enough room to maneuver around and react without bumping into their neighbor, but the enemy could also use a focused attack, targeting a place where one of our soldiers fell and could not be replaced, to exploit those bigger gaps between individuals.”

“And,” He added, returning to Woodwick’s stipulations. “Three of us needed to cross the enemy baseline. So even after breaking through the enemy defenses, it was important to stay as a group. We could protect each other’s backs, make sure at least three of us made it across.”

Tarre stepped forward again as Ber gratefully let her claim the attention. “Lieutenant Woodwick’s rules made this about numbers and, consequently, planning ahead.” Amusement flickered through Ber; that was the chess player talking. “Overall, the strategy was simple. Overwhelm the enemy with a strong offensive, and take out as many of their soldiers as possible while suffering minimal casualties. And if you can’t take them out, then at least tire them out. Success at both those goals increases the likelihood of victory when your fresh third line rushes in at the end of the fight to face a tired, demoralized opponent.” She paused. “I’m sure by now you’ve noticed the catch: your side will also be losing people and growing tired. The tricky part is finding that balance between taking enough time to maximize your opponent’s exhaustion and casualties while not rendering your own side incapable of making that final push when the third line reserves finally join the fight.”

“Have the third line attack too soon, and the enemy might still be able to fight them off,” Ber clarified, intuitively understanding that much of the strategy Tarre had laid out. “Wait too long, and your front line might be too tired to be much help.”

“Or they fall entirely before the third line can even get there,” Moss added. The other two nodded at her.

“So that’s it,” Tarre concluded a moment later. “Oh, one last thing worth mentioning.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “This worked because of the third line giving us that final advantage, but really, it also worked because these two—“ She gestured toward Moss and Ber, who shifted somewhat sheepishly “—trusted me to make a good judgement call, and I trusted them to do the same. We could’ve had as many lines as we wanted and still lost if there wasn’t that trust.”

Ber waited a moment, then pointed out, “Though if we had to, we could probably have found a way to make it a tie.” He shrugged at Tarre and Moss, who shook their heads even as they smiled. “He said the loser had to do extra work, so all we had to do was not lose. There’s no loser if it’s a tie.”

He glanced around at the assembled crowd, eyes finding Duncan again, who gave him a thumbs up. One corner of his lip twitched upward while they - as in, primarily Tarre and Moss - answered any questions that their audience might have had. And then, that was that, and it was over. Ber regrouped briefly with the two witches before making his way over to Duncan and quietly escaping the room with his friend at his side.